


Are You Satisfied

by Cecil Elijah Faustus (C_E_Faustus)



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Backstory, Canon has been taken out back and made to drink the Kool-Aid, Coming of Age, Gen, Headcanon, I was working on this for a whole calendar year before the Halloween special, M/M, Not compliant with the Halloween special, Origin Story, Religious Content, Religious Cults, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slow Build, Slow Burn, So if you think I'm stopping now you have another thing coming, Trigger warnings will be in the notes before a chapter., headcanon based, updates twice a week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-04 00:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 109
Words: 157,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12157497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_E_Faustus/pseuds/Cecil%20Elijah%20Faustus
Summary: No one becomes a cult leader overnight. Daniel, for all intents and purposes, had been a normal child. He had friends, a family, a community. When his Near Death Experience at twelve leaves his perception of the world in pieces, Daniel is determined to find meaning in it, even if it means he has to abandon everything he knew. From a small town in Georgia to a compound in Oregon, Daniel's life is pieced together to show exactly what went wrong, or perhaps what went horribly right.On temporary hiatus as of 11/07/2018.





	1. Introductory

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

— Oscar Wilde, _"The Importance of Being Earnest"_

 

 

 

 

 **ENTHUSIASTIC CULT LEADER LEAVES ENTIRE COMPOUND DEAD!**  
_**SUSPECT STILL AT LARGE** _

  
_On the morning of June 14th, police officers responding to ongoing reports of “suspicious activity” in the compound of  The International Church of Ascendentalism were alarmed to discover the scene of a recent mass-suicide. Police believe that the cult followers were made to drink poison Kool-Aid much like the Jonestown Massacre. “Enthusiastic” cult leader Daniel J. Hubbard was not present at the scene._  
_The events of June 14th come after a long string of complaints from inside the compound of corruption, manipulation, brainwashing tactics and harsh emotional and mental punishments (such as public shaming rituals) for any sins against the Church of Ascendentalism, led by the upper hierarchy. Police had obtained a search warrant for the compound a week prior, and when they arrived, they discovered banners proclaiming an “Ascension Party”. “Frankly, we have no idea what happened in there,” Sgt. Reynolds reported to the Sleepy Peak Times. When reporters reached out for further questions, they were turned away._  
_It was discovered that The International Church of Ascendentalism believed in human sacrifices to a being called Zeemuug and their Ancient Ones as a means of "ascending to a higher form". It is unclear whether or not this mass-suicide was intended as a sacrifice at this time. The Sleepy Peak police could not be reached for further questioning._

  
Of course, it didn’t all start out this way. There were years before; years spent in sticky summer noons and shivering winter nights, shouldered like the world on his back. There were days filled with worry and days filled with euphoria.  
Before Camp Campbell, there was a tiny town in Georgia. Before the compound, there was a house on Redford Drive. And before the cult leader, there were scraped knees, lumbering oak trees and a birthday party in 1999.


	2. August 1999

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For notes, aesthetics, bonus content, and responses to comments and questions, please be sure to check out @are-you-satisfied-fic.tumblr.com!

The town of Cain, Georgia is a quiet place, nestled away from the larger towns like Savannah and Atlanta. Cain was seated just quietly out of the way of all of that, with residents that all held their chins high and feared God like no others.  
  
It was here that Daniel grew up. On an oppressively hot August day in 1999, he celebrated his sixth birthday with revelry. His parents had ordered a cake from the local bakery, his mother dressed in her pearls and floral dress, as pale baby pink as spring and decorated with sugar blue flowers, her dull blonde hair pinned up and back neatly. She had invited her friends from their church to come to her son's birthday, along with all of their children, and some of the other kids from his school. She stared in the mirror at her son, seated at her vanity, as she combed through his hair. It was a much lighter blond than her own; fair and lamb-blond, his cheeks rosy and doll-like.  
  
"Now, Daniel," she started, her voice accentuated with the sort of tender sweetness that one would find in any old southern belle movie, "You be on your best behavior, don't get too fussy with the other kids and please," She practically pleaded, "Try not to get dirt on your new shorts."  
  
Daniel listened to his mother and tried to nod his head, but she kept a firm grip in his hair. He winced. His mother finished combing it back, straightened the collar of his blue polo shirt, and pat his shoulder. He jumped up from the chair and rushed out into the hall, feet making little tap-tapping noises on the wooden floors as he practically jumped down the stairs, down into his living room where presents were stacked neatly in the corner. Everything about his childhood home was graceful; from the walls adorned with floral wallpaper, green vines snaking up and down at specific intervals, to the hard wood floors and the coffee table where he had set his sketchpad. He grabbed his box of crayons and pulled out the purple and blues and greens, scribbling while he waited for his friends to arrive. He heard a heavy knock at the door and his father rushed down, his yellow tie neatly tucked into his light cream-beige vest, his dark hair combed back.  
  
The door opened, and Daniel's father greeted his friends with warm arms. Daniel looked up at one of the kids walking in, a shy boy named Patrick, his hair a deep and warm burgundy-red. He had bright wide eyes and a couple of tiny freckles dotting parts of his face. Daniel stood up, walking over to them so he could greet the other kid.  
  
"Daniel!" Patrick ran forward, hugging the blond boy so tight he thought he'd stop breathing. Daniel was the only one Patrick talked to most of the time. Daniel pat his back and smiled, looking up at their parents.  
  
"Hello Rose, hello Jonathan," Daniel's father smiled as he greeted them. Rose, a plump woman with big brown eyes, nodded her head as she stepped in.  
  
"Afternoon, Gideon. Is Sarah here?" Rose turned to Gideon as she spoke. Daniel looked up at the woman, seeing her face was powdered with an almost extreme amount of blush rubbed up and down her cheekbones. Gideon nodded, gesturing to the staircase.  
  
"Oh, _Jolly Jolene_ is upstairs, finishing up her hair no doubt." Gideon laughed, using his nickname for Daniel's mother. Sarah Jolene, or "Jolly Jolene", was one of the people at their church who was enthusiastic about everything they did. She extolled the virtues of everyone she loved, and berated the vices of anyone she disliked, all in one breath sometimes. Daniel and Patrick sat down, Patrick kicking his legs back and forth on the couch. Rose went upstairs, and Gideon and Jonathan went to the dining room to talk.  
  
"What's it like being six?" Patrick asked, a slight lisp to his speech since he lost his two front baby teeth. Daniel shrugged his tiny shoulders, pulling out red and orange crayons for Patrick.  
  
"I dunno, I guess it's just like being five except I can go to bed at seven now." He replied as he pulled a piece of paper from the sketchpad, the two dragging the crayons across the page and scribbling designs that to them made perfect sense, but maybe not to anyone else. Patrick had slightly daintier hands, with naturally baby-pink nails and thin fingers. He wouldn't admit it, but he was jealous of Daniel for already being six, since he had to wait until November for his birthday.  
  
"Do you think momma is gonna notice if I go outside?" Daniel asked Patrick with a big grin. He hated being cooped up indoors, and waiting inside was boring him to death already. Patrick glanced around nervously.  
  
"I don't think she'd like it," He said, "I mean- if she did notice."  
  
At this, Daniel jumped up off their couch and hurried to the back door, practically flinging it open, Patrick closely behind him. They ran out to the backyard, laughing and chasing after each other. They had a game they played, called _Dragon_ , where one of them would pretend to be a dragon and the other would be either a villager or a knight. Daniel was the dragon this time, chasing Patrick up and down their fenced backyard, his blond hair becoming messier and messier as he ran.  
  
_"Daniel Joseph Hubbard, get back in here!"_ He heard his mother's stern voice shout. He stopped, ice cold dread running through his blood. Yikes. He turned to face her sheepishly, and she rolled her eyes. "What have I _told_ you? Wait for the other children to get here, you promised, remember?"  
  
"Sorry, momma," He swallowed and stepped back to the door. Patrick followed, his eyes wider than should be possible.  
  
"It's- it's my fault, Mrs. Hubbard, I asked Danny if he wanted to come play outside, it's not like he meant harm or nothing," he lied. Sarah saw through this, but she still knelt down and pat Patrick's head softly.  
  
"It's okay, Patty, you're a good child, don't you worry." She said, shooting her own son a look of warning. He got the message and walked inside, back to the living room, and plopped down on the couch.  


The rest of the day went without a hitch. Other children from church and school arrived, and Daniel was able to go run around outside with them. The sound of Saturday cartoons babbling from the television was simple ambience underneath the Happy Birthday's and Oh Look How Big You've Grown's. He was so used to these comments from adults he almost didn't believe them. He and Patrick and their friends, some with pretty brown pigtails and some with bobbed hair and some with haircuts that looked a little extreme for kids their age, all ran outside after cake and began to shove each other around, giggling like there was nothing better on earth.  
Then it happened, so quickly that Daniel didn't have time to tell anyone to stop: Firm-yet-tiny hands pressed onto his back and fell into the soft ground, the dirt smearing on his new shorts. He slowly sat up, and before he could say anything, Patrick was already running over.  
  
"Oh gosh, Danny, are you okay?" He asked, sitting down next to him. Daniel nodded, rubbing his arm.  
  
"Yeah, but momma said not to ruin my shorts- gosh, she's gonna be so mad,"  
  
"It's not like she can't wash them." A girl named Rachel commented, her red curls tied up by ribbons.  
  
"But she'll be mad, she already got mad once," Daniel frowned, slowly pushing himself up off the ground. The dirt was smeared across the front of his thighs and he knew it wasn't going to brush off. He decided for now he'd just keep going, playing with the other kids, and eventually the worry was pushed from his mind.  


That evening, as the light slowly turned everything a hazy tangerine gold and the families departed - thanking Gideon and Sarah for being so hospitable and letting their kids come over - Daniel climbed up a willow tree, watching cars from his vantage point as they drove off, the baby blue balloons tied to their mailbox swaying in the breeze. He leaned onto the branch, and as he saw Patrick's family drive off, he waved harshly enough he almost fell out of the tree. He gripped tighter to the branch, and slowly made his way down.  
He entered his house and walked to the living room, beaming at his mother as she unpinned her hair, stuffing the bobby pins into the pocket of her pale yellow cardigan.  
  
"Momma, Johnny and Jason said they loved the cake!" Daniel chirped.  
  
"That's nice," Sarah replied, turning to look at her son. She gasped, and Daniel furrowed his brow. " _Daniel. Joseph. Hubbard._ What did I _tell_ you about getting your shorts dirty?!"  
  
Daniel looked down, and his face turned a bright scarlet. He mumbled something, and when Sarah asked him to repeat it, he looked up briefly. "Sorry, momma. I was just having such a good time, I didn't mean to, I swear,"  
  
Sarah sighed roughly, running her fingers through her hair. "It's okay," She said.  
  
"Really?" Daniel looked up, surprised, his blue eyes practically glittering at her.  
  
"Yes, it's fine, it's not like I paid good money for those or anything. It's not like they have to be dry-cleaned, which isn't exactly cheap. And it's not like momma's not getting paid enough as it is," She drawled on. Years later, Daniel would come to the realization this had been guilt-tripping, but at the age of six he did not quite understand why she was speaking like this. It sounded like a big deal, why was she saying it wasn't?  
  
"Just go, get your pajamas and tell your papa goodnight, I'll wash you off in a moment." Sarah waved her hand, and Daniel left the room.  


After he was bathed and tucked in bed, he looked up at the ceiling and wondered if tomorrow would be as wonderful. Would he get to go play _Dragon_ with Patrick? The two spent an awful lot of time together. He smiled at the thought of the other boy, and rolled over in his bed, closing his eyes.


	3. New Years

 New Years meant that Daniel got to stay up a little later than usual. He was only six, but his parents figured it was a special occasion. So he sat on the front porch while all of their friends huddled in the living room watching the television, the new millennium trailing itself across the deep indigo sky. Daniel's hands pressed into the porch as he stared up at the sky. He was barely awake, but he wanted to see the sky glow and the world light up like it did in his imagination. 

  Patrick stepped outside slowly, sitting down beside him.

  "Do you think aliens are gonna come get us?"

  Daniel laughed. "Where'd you hear that?"

  "I heard some people think aliens are gonna abduct us tonight!"

  "Gosh, that would be weird." Daniel said, another tiny laugh bubbling up from his throat. The two sat listening to the noises from inside the house, the cheers at the television as the clock struck midnight. The clinking of champagne glasses and his mother's laughter, lilting up, and he turned his head to see through the window his father's arms around her waist. She was laughing and he had a sweet look in his eyes, like this was the night he thought about all year. Daniel looked at Patrick.

  "Do you think we'll ever get married?" He asked. Patrick shrugged.

  "I don't wanna get married. Imagine sharing everything with someone you don't know."

  "But I think we'd know them to marry them."

  "Nah," Patrick shook his head, "My parents act like they sure don't." 

  They looked up at the sky as the stars twinkled, and the front door opened.

  "Daniel honey, Patrick and his parents are goin' home." Sarah said. Daniel pouted.

  "Aw, momma, can't he stay? Please, please, please?" Daniel squeezed Patrick's hand, and the other boy responded by squeezing it back. Sarah laughed.

  "No, Daniel, I'm afraid he can't. But y'all got to watch the new millennium together, that should be good enough."

  The two pouted at her. Puppy eyes. Pulling all the stops. But she just folded her arms over her chest.

  "Daniel, let go of him, y'all need to get to bed."

  Finally, Daniel got up and hugged Patrick tight for a moment, then headed inside. Patrick's parents came outside a few moments later, and when Daniel made it up to his room, he watched them drive away. He waved, beaming down at his friend, before falling asleep soon after.  
New millennium, new opportunities, and maybe he could make this year better than the last.


	4. Take Me To Church

  Daniel was never really fond of church.  
 

  His parents made him go, though. He'd squirm in the pew and sit barely awake, but when Brother White got up there, he listened. He didn't quite understand all he was talking about, but he felt like he should, so he said he did. He was six years old and full of light, and the man in the pulpit dressed in beige shouted out verses and psalms and sermons amassed from his own personal knowledge. 

_"...And so we should keep our families together, dear friends, because God makes the family unit in the perfect image..."_

  Daniel listened quietly. His parents had been fighting lately, and word must have gotten back to Brother White, because his entire sermon was on divorce and how it was against God's will. He looked at his mother, who sat with a stony expression on her over-makeup'd face, her lips tightly pursed. He looked to his father, who looked bored like a teenager in the middle of their worst class. The boy looked back to Brother White as he wrapped up the sermon, closed the Bible, and stepped down.  
  


  His mother drove them home, her knuckles gripping the steering wheel. The streets of Cain were lined with willows and oaks and flowers that speckled the grass with white. The houses were all white, cream, blue, brick. Everything was in flashes of color and sunlight filtering through trees, and the world was like itself with the contrast turned up. Somehow in your youth, everything seemed brighter, alive. More like it should be. Then as the years passed the colors faded and burned at the edges and bled into everything, staining other memories. Daniel, in the back seat of his parent's car, gazed out the window as they passed a house that was a blur of white slats minus the flecks of bright orange and purple flowers. He could feel the warmth sucked out from the car, windows rolled down half-way. His blond hair mussed up as he leaned to his right, staring with big blue eyes at the big blue sky. Everything was blue, white, cream, green...

  "Gideon, hon, why don't we stop at Lafayette's?" Sarah suggested, her voice just sweet and honey. "We could get something to eat and then go home."

  "Gosh." Gideon rolled his eyes. "Jolene darling, you're sure drawn to that place."

  "Well, I happen to love the food."

  "You sure it's just the food?" Gideon grunted. Sarah tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

  "Now what in the _hell_ does that mean?"

  "You and Charles seem to talk and awful lot." Gideon kept his gaze directed out the window; like father like son, Daniel kept his eyes out to the streets and to see the boys and girls dressed in pink and blue and yellow and white, dancing and playing hopscotch and jump rope and their pigtails and braids and bob-cuts bouncing. All of them looked so happy and at peace.

  _"Gideon Everest,"_ Sarah exclaimed, "What _are_ you insinuating?"

  "You know what I mean, _Sarah Jolene."_

  "You're a _damn fool,_ if you think that's what's happening."

  "Oh, am I?" 

  "Gideon, you-" A hot flush flooded her cheeks. She slowed the car, taking a deep breath, growling. "Not in front of the child, _hon."_ Acid. Harsh. Burning her lips and scorching his ears. 

  The rest of the drive was silent, and while the atmosphere inside was dark and stormy and took on it's own mass, Daniel kept his eyes to the world outside and the big blue sky and white, white houses.


	5. October 1999

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to check out @are-you-satisfied-fic on tumblr for update and character notes, bonus content, aesthetics, and more!

  The cold of October swelled like the chest of pride, a mild crisp scent to the air, the touch of winter lingering on the horizon. In Georgia, the cold didn't arrive in it's full glory until January most years, with humidity gripping the bones and seeping the ice further down into the blood.  
  
  Church was a cacophany of pipe organs and choir songs and hymnals burning up the air like incense. Daniel's mother was a member of the choir, one of the best - her words, not his - and she belted out the words with knife-sharp precision. She had a way of mingling them with melodies that other choir members didn't have, but that did not mean it was necessarily good. She had one of those voices that was purely hers, that much could be said.  
  
  With her voice that was purely hers, she ordered their lunch at a diner named Lafayette's. Daniel kicked his legs back and forth in his chair, his feet not quite reaching the floor. He scribbled on some paper his father had brought along for him, and when ladies from the church came by - "My, what a lovely young man he's growing into!" Followed by a lot of cheek-pinching and hair ruffling - he tried his best to be polite. He'd mumble out a 'thank you' followed by their name and leave it at that. He kept his eyes on his paper, or on the wood-paneled walls and the lace-trimmed windows, or the gingham table cloth and white napkins and the smell of cooking meat.  
  
  "Danny, what's up?"  
  
  "Rachel," The incredulous voice of the little girl's mother scolded, "That's no way to greet another person! My golly, excuse my daughter, Mrs. Hubbard," She apologized. Daniel's mother looked at Rachel, then at her mother - a heavyset woman in glasses named Veronica - and laughed.  
  
  "Oh my, don't worry about it. They're just children, _darlin'_ children." Sarah chirped, but there was something in her voice edging into the unknown; the uncanny valley of emotional undertone. Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  
  
_"Excuse me,"_ the ginger girl pouted. " _Hello,_ Daniel. How was church?"  
  
  "Much better." Veronica smiled and pat her daughter's head. Rachel just frowned, her curls tied in white ribbons today, her dress a sweet shade of beige-brown, like mixing cinnamon and sugar. Her brown shoes probably had dirt on them, but it was hard to tell. Her posture said she was a child who obeyed her mother and minded her manners; her grin said she was the child who burned down a neighborhood and blamed the fire on the cat.  
  
  "It was okay." Daniel shrugged. He didn't enjoy being stuffed into a room with a bunch of other five and six year olds and told how to act and how to react to people, but that was church.  
  
  "What're you drawing?" Rachel hopped up into the seat next to Daniel, leaning over the table. He shifted the drawing over to her.  
  
  "It's an alien squid!" He stated proudly. "He doesn't have a name though,"  
  
  "Why can't he be a girl?" Rachel would've arched her brow if she knew how. Daniel couldn't come up with a good answer for that, but he was in public, no crayon-throwing here. Besides, he was six! He should be above all that five-year-old throwing things behavior!  
  
  "Daniel," Gideon sighed, "Son, you know aliens aren't real, right?"  
  
  "Why?" Daniel pursed his lips.  
  
  "Because God made man, and not aliens."  
  
  "Why?"  
  
  Sarah groaned, "Because God does as He wishes, sweetie." She replied. Rachel had hopped down and was walking off with her mother, looking back at Daniel.  
  
  "Why?" Daniel asked, grinning.  
  
  "Son-"  
  
_"Why?"_  
  
_"Daniel."_ Gideon rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That's enough."  
  
  When they got home later that afternoon, Daniel shoved his drawing into a shoebox in his closet, filled with other art he considered good enough to save. The alien squid monster would have to wait for another day.  
  
  Ten years later, that day would arrive, a headache and a book on Scientology resting with it.


	6. Gold

Knees bent as he kicked his legs, Daniel had changed out of his church clothes and sat there on his front porch, the weeds tickling his legs. He breathed in the summer air, the smell of heat heavy in the wind, the blue skies passing slowly by. The clouds were loose cotton trailing like lint falling out of his pockets, and the branches of the trees swayed like arms outstretched above him. Kids played soccer out in the street, their scraped up knees and dusty shorts kicking the ball and their heads hot and wild in the summer afternoon. Patrick spotted him from the street and waved one small and nimble hand, sprinting up from the sidewalk, from the white glow of the sun into the blue brushing shade. He panted and wiped the sweat from his brow with his arm, smiling a broad smile at Daniel.

"Hey, why don't you come play with us?" He suggested. Daniel shrugged.

"I don't know how to play soccer." He admitted, averting his baby blue eyes. Patrick rushed over, rolling his eyes and grabbing Daniel's wrist, pulling him a couple of feet down so he landed to the ground. 

"I'll teach you, come on!" Patrick insisted. The look on his face was one of flushed cheeks and big eyes and a wide smile and all the enthusiasm of an angel on the day of creation. Daniel stared, thought, and nodded.

"Okay. Is it hard?"

"Nah, you'll learn it quickly enough." Patrick swatted his hand. "Come on, Johnny and Jason are playing." 

So Patrick led him out into the street, and the cool shade was bumped aside by the wave of hot air rising up from the cement. A girl from the high school rode by on her bike, dinging the bell at them, her cotton shirt tucked into her cotton shorts. She waved at a boy with lamb-white hair and baby cheeks, his lips pink and small and his eyes like the forests in dying-summer. Hazel, green, brown, gold. 

"Hey Abraham!" She called, "Your daddy's sermon was good, tell him I said hi!"

"Okay," He squeeked. Abraham was a shy mousey boy with a shy mousey voice. He wore primarily shades of baby-blanket yellow, and his legs were twigs and his face was cherubic. He was small and serene and his father's pride and joy, aside from the fact he never took an interest in hunting and fishing like most of the boys around Cain. 

"Who was that?" Rachel asked, ruffling her curly red pigtails.

"Ally-Grace, she's Mrs. Wurther's daughter, remember?" He looked at Rachel, who just gave a half-hearted shrug and picked up the soccer ball.

"FOUL! She's holding the ball!" A boy yelled. Rachel stuck her tongue out at him.

"We're taking a break, butthead!" She retorted, scrunching up her nose. That shut the boy up, who must have been a few years younger than them by the look on his face. He apparently had not met Rachel before.

"So you playing or not?" She turned to Daniel, who nodded.

"Teach me." He stepped over, scuffing his white running shoes on the street. Rachel grinned a big mischief-filled grin, bouncing the soccer ball on her knee, then passing it to Patrick. He shoved it into the crook of his arm, holding it to his ribs.

"Okay, so, you can't touch it with your hands when we play." He set it on the ground, tapping it with the tip of his shoe. He explained the rules to Daniel as well as he could, and when the other seemed to understand, they kicked the ball back and forth and eventually were sprinting up and down the streets, from house to house and yard to yard, laughing and screaming and recklessly throwing their legs out to kick the ball higher, higher, higher, faster. Daniel looked to the side to see his mother sitting on the porch in a white rocking chair, tinged blue in the shade, her lips pressed to a cigarette. She only smoked when she was angry, and her face was red like she'd been out in the sun for several hours too long. She blew the smoke out into the air, rubbing the bridge of her nose.  
Daniel fell into the grass with a thud. The soccer ball had thunked off his head and bounced away, tap-tap-tapping on the sidewalk to a stop under Rachel's foot.

"Hey, you okay, Danny?" Patrick called from the other team. Daniel nodded, standing, straightening his clothes. His mother wouldn't be pleased about the dirt in his clothes or in his hair, but he was free in the street even with her watchful gaze now burning two pinprick-sized holes in the back of his neck.

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine!" He assured as he rushed to a run, kicking the ball from under Rachel over to the other team. Rachel stumbled and pressed her hands into the sidewalk, scraping up the skin a bit, but she wiped them on her shirt and continued playing. Nobody noticed the skin on the balls of her palms was red and a little scratched, and she liked it that way. She could skin herself on glass and she'd keep going so long as she didn't die. 

* * *

  
The mid-day melted into noon and kids were slowly dropping out of the game to go home or play something else. Their energy had filled up the air with something unplaceable, something real and tangible and invisible like an old god swirling through the noon breeze. Rachel had gone home to soak her hands in water and put medicine on them - her mother had seen the scrapes when she'd run up to get a glass of water - and Daniel and Patrick now walked side-by-side through Cain. The town was a haven, small and quiet, where nothing bad happened to kids who went alone into the afternoon sun. So long as they were back in time for dinner, they were okay, and they could be let alone.

"So did you like soccer?" Patrick asked, his chest still heaving from rushing about all day. 

"It was good," Daniel nodded, "Momma's gonna be mad at me over the dirt, though."

"Aw," Patrick swatted his hand, "Forget that! Your momma can't keep you in a jar."

"She wishes she could." Daniel rolled his eyes. The silence grew around them, a car passing by, and they watched their reflections in the red of it's surface. Then Patrick tugged Daniel's hand.

"Come on, Danny, I wanna show you something." He urged. Daniel stood, staring at his hand, then at the boy with burgundy hair and bright summer eyes and peach-toned cheeks. He waited a moment - a hesitation - before he started to walk. Then Patrick started running. Then Daniel ran, the air lifted out of his lungs with each breath as they went faster and faster, sprinting- no, flying, through the streets of Cain, Georgia. And then Patrick was yelling and laughing and Daniel joined in, their jovial voices echoing and reverberating in the trees and their spirits lifting them higher and higher and into the evening. They ran all the way up the hills and into a small grove of willows and oaks and birch and pine. Patrick helped Daniel climb one of the trees and soon they were resting in some of the lower branches, sitting together and watching their neighborhood as it twinkled like a star. All of the beautiful houses, Iron Chapel Baptist Church, the wind sweeping up the dust. The clouds had trailed away an hour ago, and the sun's gold turned everything into a dream-like glow. Patrick looked at Daniel and the sun gave him a halo, an angel seated in the tree. Patrick closed his palm tight into Daniels.

"I don't wanna grow old." Patrick said.

"Me neither." Daniel shook his head and the blond strands fanned out and relaxed. Feathers on his head.

"Mom always says it hurts a lot to grow old. Like you start hurting and aching and you can't do much of anything."

"That's cause your grandma has arthritis- was that it?" Daniel leaned a little, pressing his free palm into the bark of the branch.

"Yeah." Patrick nodded. "She hates it, but she still makes it seem like she's enjoying being old."

"Then your momma hates it more?" Daniel looked out over the town and he could see his father in the distance, waving. He waved back.

"Yeah, mom hates it." Patrick nodded. "She says she never wants to get old like grandma." 

Daniel's father waved, like gesturing him forward, and he realized then that the gold was gone and replaced by a rusty and sleepy red haze. A surprised expression crossed his face. "Oh golly, we gotta get home." He began climbing down, and Patrick followed.

The two of them landed with thuds in the dirt near each other, and Daniel's father strolled over.

"Come on, Daniel, momma's gonna be worried if we don't get you back."

Daniel nodded. "Coming, father. Patrick?"

"Yeah?" Patrick was already turning to go to his house.

"Do you wanna come over for dinner?"

"Nah, mom's fixin' something good. I'll see you tomorrow, though!" 

Patrick waved, Daniel waved, and the two were separated.

* * *

 

When Daniel got home, his mother gave the two a stern glare.

"Gideon," She huffed, "Your son better not trek dirt into this house." 

_"Shouldn't've had a kid."_ Gideon grumbled to himself, before turning to face her. "He won't. Daniel, take your shoes off." 

Daniel did as told, pulling off his running shoes - once pristine white, now slightly yellowed and brown - and setting them by the door.

"Now, go get washed up for dinner." Sarah instructed, stepping back into the kitchen. Daniel trudged up the stairs and cleaned up, and as they ate dinner he didn't want to mention it, but a tense silence was settled. Even when they talked about church and their day, the tension never left, strangling them all like they were hostages in it's grasp. 

Even when Daniel was washed and went to bed, he felt the tension, choking his dreams. It was an odd feeling, but he didn't want to talk about it.


	7. Hellfire, part I

The threat of hell was a constant thing in Cain. For a town that preached sermons of love, they sure had an obsession with making people behave by threats of eternal damnation.

Daniel was only getting dressed that morning when his mother started it up. 

"Daniel dear. Listen to your father and I, or you'll go to hell." 

He had wanted to wear his green shoes with his orange shirt, but then his mother told him no, and then he argued, and then she used the threat of hellfire. He didn't fully comprehend the magnitude of hell at the age of eight, but he knew it meant he would be away from God and the angels. And he knew that that was bad. So he changed shirts into one that was as soft and tender a blue as the morning sky, breaking up the orange and golds. He sat at the table, silently eating his breakfast. 

"My boss has decided that they're going to be taking on a new secretary." His mother groaned to his father, who just shrugged.

"The firm is doing well." Gideon stated. "We might even be doing better than expected this year."

Daniel felt like he was interrupting if he tried to talk to them about something going on in his life. Like how Patrick showed him the town at sunset. How Rachel totally kicked ass at soccer - though he knew not to use that word, his mother threatened soap if he tried even saying "heck" in her presence - and how a girl from the high school said hello to Abraham. But if he interrupted his parents, he knew they would tell him rudeness was a sin. So he sat quietly poking his eggs with his fork, his blond hair in his eyes.

"You need a haircut." Sarah piped up, her unique little voice clipping his thoughts short.

"I like my hair," he murmured.

"Now, Daniel, what have I told you about arguing?" She prompted. He didn't reply, and she took this in stride, smiling at Gideon. "See what a lovely boy we're raising? So obedient." 

"Now now, Sarah, he was making a statement." Gideon said, stabbing his eggs with his fork, making a sharp clank noise. "Still, I'm siding with your mother on this one, your hair is a little unruly. Don't wanna go to church looking like that." 

Daniel knew better than to argue his point. He just bitterly stared at his plate. "When can I go outside?"

"When you finish eating." Sarah replied.

* * *

  
  
When Daniel left his house, the mid-morning air was cool and rising up to meet him, swooping up in breezes and enveloping him. He stepped down from his porch and into the fresh green grass, walking down the street to Rachel's house. He knocked on the door, and when Veronica answered, he asked for his friend.

"Sorry Daniel, I'm afraid Rachel's grounded today."

"Aw, why?"

"She said something vile, so she needs to stay in her room until she learns her lesson." Veronica stated sternly. Daniel frowned.

"Can you tell her we'll miss her today?"

Veronica nodded, they said their goodbyes, and she shut the door. Daniel walked down the street to Patrick's house, knocking on the door. A few moments later, the burgundy-haired child opened the door and shut it behind him, beaming at Daniel.

"Hey! Where's Rachel?"

"Her mom said she said something vile, so she can't come today."

"That sucks." Patrick pouted momentarily, then placed his hands on his hips, rocking back and forth on the balls of his heels. "Well! What're we doing today?"

"I dunno," Daniel admitted. He wished he had thought through what he wanted to do today before getting Patrick to come outside with him. Then he thought for a moment, and then he rushed to the sidewalk and placed his fingers over his lips. "Patrick, follow me."

"What're we-?"

" _Shhhh!_ It's a secret." Daniel whispered. Patrick trailed behind him, and the two of them made their way to Rachel's house. Daniel knew which window was hers, her bedroom being on the first floor and her window decorated with stickers. He and Patrick snuck around the back of their house, slipping underneath the windowsill. Daniel stood, wrapping on the glass softly so as not to alert anyone else, and then kneeling down, peering over the windowsill.

Soon, Rachel parted the curtains, still in her PJs. They were purple and decorated with stripes and stars, and her hair was in one bushy, fire-red ponytail. When she saw the two boys, she smiled mischievously, opening the window as quietly as she could.

"Daniel, Patrick," She whispered, "What are you guys doing here?"

"We wanted to see you," Patrick said, smiling at her, his eyes gazing past her into her room. Her bed was bright blue and her walls were beige, everything in her room in it's own state of chaos. She looked sleepy, like she'd rolled out of bed only to be told she was grounded, then hunkered down in her sheets and going back to sleep until now.

"What're you guys up to?" Rachel asked. The summer sun was slamming against their skin, but none of them minded the heat.

"Nothing yet. I'm thinking of running to the candy store, do you wanna go?" Patrick asked Daniel, turning to him. The blond tapped his fingers together.

"Mm... I don't have any money."

"I do. I usually leave home with like five dollars, I'm sure we could get you something, Rachel."

At this, Rachel looked like she was about to scream from excitement. _"You know what I want, right?"_ She rushed out in a quiet voice.

"That _gross_ grape taffy." Patrick stuck his tongue out. Rachel nodded her head rapidly. When she heard footsteps in the hall, she slammed her window shut and flew back to her bed, and Daniel and Patrick ran to the street as fast as their feet would take them. 

* * *

  
They came back from the candy store with a handful of grape taffy stuffed in Daniel's pocket, and two tiny bags of jelly beans each. When they got back to Rachel's house, Daniel knocked on the window, and Rachel parted her curtains. She opened the window quietly, giggling.

"That was close," She sounded breathless, extending her hands and motioning for them to give her the goods. Daniel slammed the individually wrapped grape taffy's in her hand, and she looked absolutely giddy.

" _Gosh!_ Thanks dudes," She said, ripping one of the taffy's from their wax paper, popping it in her mouth. 

"It's no problem," Patrick bit into a jelly bean, scrunched up his face, and spit it into the grass. "Bleh, _golly,_ that tasted like _crap._ "

Daniel gasped. "You said a-"

"Danny," Patrick whined, rolling his eyes, "Crap isn't a bad word!"

"According to my momma it is." Daniel retorted.

"Your momma thinks 'heck' is a bad word." Patrick countered. 

"It is!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Boys," Rachel sighed, palming her face. "Y'all are something else, y'know?"

"Who's something else?" A voice behind Rachel demanded slowly, and Rachel jumped.

"Damn!" She hissed.

" _Rachel Anne Willcox,_ I will _not_ have that foul language in this house!" Her mother protested, her voice loud and firm. 

"I've already said 'hell', mom, it's not like I'm a baby!" Rachel chided. At the age of eight, she was indeed a baby, but she refused to see it that way.

* * *

  
  
Patrick and Daniel had already bolted, their feet slamming the pavement as they went in the direction of Patrick's house, the tap-tapping as they ran alerting every neighborhood dog, which barked at them on the way. The boys slammed through the door of Patrick's house and shut it, laughing, pulling out their small bags of jelly beans and eating the candies in the comfort of Patrick's bedroom. The floor was hardwood and covered with a large, round rug with stars decorating it, and there was a small dresser that was adorned with various trinkets and things he had accumulated over the years. 

"Do you think her mom saw us?" Patrick asked, breathless still from running.

"I sure hope not," Daniel laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. The two talked about what they were going to do when Rachel was ungrounded, and when Daniel went home for lunch, his mother sat at the kitchen table, tapping her fingers on the surface.

" _Daniel Joseph Hubbard,_ you think this is a _game?_ "

He furrowed his brow, stepping hesitantly into the kitchen.

"Momma?" He squeaked.

"That was Rachel's mother on the phone. She said you and Patrick came by to see her daughter, knowing she was grounded, and even brought her candy. You boys just don't know when to stop being stupid, do you?" 

Daniel looked down at the floor, slowly scuffing his shoe against it's surface. "Sorry, momma."

"Go get cleaned up for lunch, but there will be no dinner for you tonight."

* * *

  
  
Daniel didn't mind not eating dinner. It was the fact his parents still made him sit with them at the dining table that bothered him the most. Watching them eat in front of him. His mother had even made something he usually liked; baked potatoes and green beans. He sat there, his stomach aching, gnawing at his skin, gnawing at his guts and biting for something, anything. He stared at his glass of water for the most part.  
He didn't really understand his mother's methods of punishment. Maybe this is what hell would be like, and she was warning him.

Either way, it was frustrating. 

He only looked up slightly when he heard his name. His mother made the comment about how if he kept this up, he'd be on the fast track to hell. Disobedience, disrespecting parents...  
 _Didn't that feel a little extreme?_ He thought. But he bit his tongue. He always bit his tongue.

_And a seed of doubt in his family's ways was planted.  
_


	8. Peach Trees

They sat under the peach trees on Abraham's property. Daniel, Rachel, and Patrick all sat together like they had for years, their knees bumping as they sat criss-cross and resting hands in the grass or on their knees. Johnny and Jason, twins who had been fun off-and-on friends for years, sat near Patrick. Abraham was walking in slow circles behind them, his hand patting the air above their heads. 

"Duck-duck-goose is for kids," Rachel yawned. "We're almost ten, can't we go do something else? Like I don't know, just walk?"

"Shhhh!" Johnny leaned forward so far he almost fell on his face, "Come on, Rachel, it's fun! We don't get to play much now that we're almost in middle school. We should enjoy it!"

"Whatever," Rachel grumbled, folding her arms over her chest. 

"I think it's fun," Patrick shrugged, "I used to love this game. Danny, didn't we play something similar when we were younger?"

"Dragon," Daniel said, nodding. "We played Dragon, though I think that's more along the lines of tag."

"More fun though, if we're being honest." Patrick grinned. Daniel smiled back and the two sat, and as Abraham made his fifth circle, he pat Patrick hard on the head and shouted 'GOOSE!' Before rushing around the circle. Patrick got to his feet quickly, darting from his spot to chase Abraham, the other's light blond hair looking ghost white in the summer sun, his eyes greener and brighter than the spring grass. They ran faster around the circle, and when

Abraham finally slid into Patrick's spot in the circle, the burgundy-haired boy pouted and rolled his eyes.

"Okay, okay," He said, his voice light like bird bones as he walked around the circle. He moved into a skip, kicking his legs up and down and into the grass light and airy, hand eventually landing on Rachel's head and his voice howling out the word 'GOOSE' and Rachel lurching up from her spot, grabbing Patrick by his shirt and tackling him to the ground before she ran to her own spot. Patrick got up, rubbing his head, scrunching up his nose.

"Geez, Rachel-"

"What? I'm vicious," She cackled her fire-filled laugh as she sat there, gripping her knees. Patrick went in the circle and shouted when he reached Daniel, and the blond stumbled to his feet. He was always a little more frail than his friends, no matter what he did. He managed to chase Patrick for a while before Patrick dived into Daniel's spot, smirking up at him.

"Looks like it's your turn, Danny!" He commented, and the nickname from Patrick's lips made his chest swell up like a balloon. He wasn't sure how or why, but when Patrick complimented him and used that nickname, he felt warm like the sun was tucked up in his chest. He smiled broadly and ran around the circle, picking Jason and then landing in the other's spot. 

Eventually, Abraham was up, choosing Patrick. Rachel groaned when Abraham had been knocked from his spot by Patrick sliding effortlessly into it. 

"You always pick Patrick," she mumbled. Abraham heard her and smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, and I always will." 

At this, Daniel's chest felt tight, like it was being crushed, and he didn't know why. He saw Abraham standing over the burgundy-haired boy with his hands on his shoulders, leaning down and smiling at all of them, and he felt sick. 

And then he got up when the game was declared over, and walked away without a word.


	9. Valentines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Daniel's mother uses the q slur in this chapter.

Ten years old and kicking up dust on the playground, Daniel sat in the swing and twisted himself around in the seat, the chains clink-clanking-squeaking with his movements. They were told to give Valentines cards to someone they liked, and ever since that day of Duck-Duck-Goose with his friends he'd been thinking about it. Patrick was his best friend. Yes, Rachel was close, but Patrick was his world. He would give the world for him, give the universe to him in a heartbeat. And he felt something deeper there, buried under soot and blackened soil, nurturing it until it could bloom fully. 

"Hey Danny," Patrick sat in the swing next to his, kicking his legs up into the air. Daniel stared into the sky, like he was asking God why He did this to him. 

"Hey Patrick," Daniel said, his wool coat pulled tight to his torso. 

"Soooooo Valentines is coming up," Patrick grinned slyly. 

"Yeah?"

"Aaaaaaaand do you know who you're making a card for?"

Daniel flushed, "No," He said sheepishly. Patrick laughed and pat his arm.

"Come on! You totally know." He said, shoving the swing a little so Daniel swung left and right like a pendulum in slow motion.

"I really don't!" Daniel squeaked with a nervous laugh. Patrick grabbed the blond's swing by the chain, pulling him closer, and closer still until their noses were only inches apart and the way Patrick's grin set stars in his eyes was so evident; the glimmer and sweet glow of joy in his face. Daniel felt his ears go warm. Why were his ears warm?

"Well, _I_ sure do." Patrick disclosed. Daniel's eyes widened slightly. 

"Who?" His voice was higher than usual, and he thought to himself how he sounded like a mouse.

"Waverly Lynn!" He announced, letting go of Daniel's swing, the blond swinging back to the right like a pendulum held up too long, air whistling in his ears for a moment. And when his swing came back to the left, he thought his stomach had been left in the air to the right. Waverly Lynn was a girl in their grade, with dark hair and naturally ruddy cheeks. She and Patrick had been spending more time together lately, and Daniel realized it only made sense, but he was... Disappointed? What was he disappointed for?  
  


* * *

 

When he got in his mother's car, he sat in the passenger seat - his mother had been allowing him to sit up front lately - and he buckled himself in.

"How was school?" Sarah asked, her eyes not leaving the road. 

"It was okay," He mumbled. She furrowed her brow.

"What? It sounds like you didn't have a good day, hon," His mother cooed. "Tell momma all about it." 

She had moments like this. Moments where she really was his mother and not the strong-handed, strong-willed woman who just so happened to be the one who bore him. He shrugged. "I don't know. Valentines is coming up, right, momma?"

"Yes? Oh, have you figured out who you're giving your card to?" 

He nodded. "I think so, I think I wanna give it to Patrick."

Sarah almost howled with laughter. "Aw, Daniel honey, you're supposed to give it to someone you _like,_ not your friend." 

"But momma, I think I _like_ Patrick! He's always the kindest to me, he's been my friend since forever, and hearing him say he was giving his card to Waverly-"

"Wait." Sarah was glad she had stopped at a stop sign, her knuckles blanched from gripping the steering wheel so tight. _"Daniel."_ Her voice was low as she blinked, staring ahead, not at her son, just into the road. "Daniel, you are tellin' me you _like_ Patrick?"

Daniel shrugged and nodded. "Mm... Maybe?" 

There was a long silence. Another car stopped behind them, realized they weren't going to move, and drove around. 

"Daniel. You _can't_ tell your father about this, understood?"

"But momma-"

"No. You will _not_ tell your father about this. Are we _understood?"_   
  


* * *

 

Daniel had agreed simply because he knew arguing was pointless. They'd eaten dinner that night and on his way up to bed, he heard his mother's hushed weeping. He paused on the stairs, slowly and quietly creeping back down, sitting on the fourth step and listening to the conversation in the dining room.

"...Did you explain to him what that means?" Gideon's voice.

"Yes," Sarah's trembling voice.

"So you mean to tell me our son-"

"Gideon, I don't want our son to grow up to be a _fucking queer!"_ She hissed in a low voice through her tears. He didn't know why, but the word hit him square in the chest, an ache he couldn't explain, like he knew this angered them. Sarah went on to say many, many other things, but he'd stepped up the stairs as silently as he'd come down and headed to bed.  
  


* * *

 

In the end, he gave his card to Rachel. _"You're cool,"_ He'd written inside. She gave him her's, and inside it read, _"You're pretty darn neat",_ which was good enough. 

And his parents were satisfied with this exchange. Even when Daniel saw Patrick handing Waverly his card and Waverly handing him hers, and he flinched, he did not object.

 


	10. Berries

_"but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat from it you will certainly die."_  
_-Genesis 2:17, NIV_  
  
  There are a variety of poison plants that grow in Georgia. Like a knife; beautiful when on display and deadly when in use.  
  
  Daniel had been out wandering in the town. He had nothing else to do on a Saturday, and the weather was warming up. The sun tickled his face and breathed down on him, warming his weary muscles. He'd been walking for a while, his long, skinny legs pale and winter-white even in the spring light. He had just sat down to rest when he felt his stomach growl.  
  
  "Come on," He mumbled to himself, the grass pricking the backs of his legs. "We'll be home in a minute."  
  
  He looked up, leaning his head into the leaves of the bush, his eyes gazing skyward. Then they twitched up, catching sight of something, and he craned his neck to see the berries hanging over his head. He plucked one, popping it in his mouth. He scrunched up his nose, the bitter taste absolutely revolting, but it was food. And it would hold him over until he walked home.  
  
  He popped another in his mouth, and another, and until he had eaten a good many of them, shining red between his pinched fingers. And then he stood (his legs wobbled - _why were they wobbling?)_ and started the short walk home.

* * *

  
  
  His chest and his head were both thundering in perfect sync when he made it up the stairs to his porch, opening the door slowly - the creak rang in his ears more than it usually did - and he hobbled into the kitchen. His mother took one look at him and let out an unholy sound, the sound of fear.  
  
  "Momma," He groaned, "I don't- I don't feel so good."  
  
  
  And with a thud, the world went black.


	11. Lazarus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emetophobia warning.

_"We're losing him-"_  
 _  
The oxygen mask was tight around the cult leader's face. He could barely see the nurses in their scrubs and the doctor in his labcoat. Everything was blurry and his brain was static. His hands were numb. Had he had a seizure? He had no memory of the ambulance. He had no memory of anything after he had collapsed. Except for David- sweet, jade-eyed David. The man had practically shoved all of the kids inside the Mess Hall (wide eyed and still Purified) while he called the hospital._  
 __  
But this wasn't the first time he'd nearly died.

* * *

  
  They'd rushed him to the hospital as soon as they could- he'd collapsed and convulsed and threw up. His throat burned and he was crying, crying so loud- _"I don't wanna die, momma!"_   
  
  The nurses had set him on a stretcher and taken the crying, half-conscious boy into a room. His mother gripped to her husband's arm, her eyes wet, cheeks red. She had comforted him on the way there, Gideon driving, saying sweetly that he shouldn't worry, that God was gonna take care of him. That Jesus was with him. That he should breathe and think about how wonderful God is going to make everything. But he had wailed and wailed in pain in the back of the car and convulsed and when they had arrived at the hospital, things had only gotten worse.  
  
  Because now, Daniel was as still as the winter.  
  
  
  He didn't know what was going on. Machines everywhere. Beeping. Beeping. Loud whirring. Doctors and nurses all shouting and whispering to each other and suddenly it all felt bright, too bright. And then his mind drifted. Would God let this happen to him? Why? Why was this part of His plan?  
  
 _'Jesus, please-'_ he thought, staring into the bright lights of the hospital room, _'I don't wanna die, I'm a kid, I don't wanna die...'_  
  
  Time slowed. He closed his eyes.  
  
  
 _ **Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep….**_

* * *

  
  ....  
  
  It was so dark.   
  
  It was so dark and cold and when Daniel looked around, he saw nothing. Nothingness for miles, stretched out before and behind him; stretched out to infinity. He tried to move, but his legs were stuck in place. What was this place, even? Then it occurred to him; was this it? The afterlife? Where were his relatives, ancestors? His angels? It was so, so dark. Where was the light? His chest tightened and he couldn't breathe. No, no, this can't be it! This _can't_ be infinity! _Had he been lied to?_  
  
  
 _ **Beeeep-- beep. Beep. beep. Beep.**_  
  
  
  His eyelids fluttered, and slowly, he woke.   
  
  His mother gasped, “Oh thank Heaven,” She exclaimed, tear-streaked cheeks and quivering lips. She prayed. His father thanked the nurse.  
  
  Daniel looked at the two of them. His throat ached. He looked at the heart monitor and the IVs. Where had been the fanfare and streets lined with gold?  
  


* * *

  
  
  When he was discharged a few days later, he left the hospital with his parents holding his hands. His body was frail, like he had been drained of all of his energy. He'd always been slightly anemic, but now it felt like he had no iron whatsoever, like his entire body was just a heavy sack of flour. His parents got in the car and when Sarah sat at the wheel, she glanced over to see Gideon pull out a flask, take a sip, and put it away.  
  
  " _Gosh,_ Gideon, put that away!"  
  
  "It's not like I'm an _alcoholic,_ it's just a sip, don't worry. It's been a stressful week, anyways." Gideon retorted. Sarah dragged her fingers through her blond hair and then backed the car up, pulling out of the hospital parking lot and onto the street. 

* * *

  
  
  Daniel didn't want to go to church the following Sunday. But his parents grabbed him, helped him dress and set him in the car. He felt like he was in a fog, a vague haze to the world in his mind. He had had too much time to think over what he had seen- or rather, what he had not seen. When they got to church, everyone greeted him like he had just risen from the dead, which in restrospect, he had. Brother White hailed his arrival and his revival as a sort of Biblical miracle. A real Lazarus from the tomb, raised up by the Messiah.   
  
  Daniel shifted in the pew and thought how if he said what he was thinking, he would be punished for blasphemy. But the question still burned the tip of his tongue and scorched his teeth; when he died, _where had been God?_


	12. Amber

  The noon was amber skies and Daniel was contemplating death.  
 

  The quiet and hazy noon had turned dark and turbulent with oncoming clouds, spattering houses with rain and battering the streets. Then when it faded, it left the skies over Cain a heavy amber lined with dark ocher and burnt sienna. 

  It was, in short, a lovely afternoon for the twelve-year-old blond to sit on his porch and contemplate the nature of the afterlife.

  After his unpleasant encounter with what he learned were holly berries - highly poisonous - and his Near Death Experience, everyone nicknamed him Lazarus. "The Lord has brought you back for a reason, child," They would say with easy tongues and pleasant mouths, "You are destined for great things for Him to bring you back."

  Daniel choked up, covering his lips. He couldn't let anyone see him cry on the porch. It was bad for his family's reputation. He had a lot riding on his shoulders. His church paraded him as a symbol of the miracles of Christ when he had seen nothingness and he felt sick to know this. He felt deep in his aching chest that no matter what he'd say, they would ignore him and put out their own story. 

  If The Lord wanted him to live, why did He bring him back into a house where his mother was screaming right now at her husband. He could hear the muffled tones, shrill and rumbling like lightning through the walls. Then the sound stopped, and a pang of worry ached Daniel's chest. He half-considered going inside when his father opened the door, stepped out onto the porch and took a sip of something amber in a glass. He lowered his head with a breathy chuckle.

  "Your mother," He mumbled, "She's always gotta have the last word, don't she?" He looked at his son and for the moment they were quiet, just Daniel's solemn nod was enough to placate the man. Gideon slid his fingers through his dark, ochre brown hair and stared out at the sky and the neighborhood on the slope down the hill, and the way the trees seemed to almost mutter in the breeze. A quiet language older than time, that only nature could know. 

  "Is she mad at you for something?" Daniel piped up. Gideon rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

  "She's mad 'cause she thinks I have a problem. I've been functioning perfectly well for a while on this stuff," He quirked his elbow to raise and lower the glass in a slight motion, "She's just mad she can't handle her liquor." 

  "Why can't she?" Daniel swayed a little, the grass brushing his ankles. He could remember years ago sitting here and not being able to touch the ground, but now his toes were in the green gold grass and he was able to slide off easily.

  "Son, your momma's a happy drunk, and then she's an angry drunk." Gideon laughed. "It used to be fun to get her on the stuff. Jolly Jolene we'd call her then, and when she was sober we still called her that. She used to be quite the happy little thing," He breathed the words whistfully and stared off, like his eyes were tracing the figure of the girl he used to know, used to love the way he had thought only possible in fairytales. Daniel could see it in his eyes that deep down, he did love her. He did have something left for her, a fistful of affections tucked away. 

  The tucked away part was the problem. The two of them had been jealous of each other's affections for other people for so long, but then they would stick together. They refused, for some reason or another, to just let it go. 

  "Used to be happy...?" Daniel repeated with a frown.

  "Yeah, 'til we had you, she was laughing all the time." Gideon took a drink from his glass. 

  Whether Gideon recognized his mistake would remain unclear, because he stepped back inside shortly after. A car sent itself down the street with the low rumble of a slow pace, and Daniel thought to himself; if he had died in the hospital, would everything be better between his parents?

  He wondered, again, if God existed, _why did He let him live?_


	13. Halloween

  All Hallow's Eve, Halloween, or as Daniel's mother called it, Satan's birthday.

  Daniel had only been allowed to dress up at church functions, which all took place the Sunday before Halloween, and even then his family had disapproved. His costumes had all had a common theme; simple, non-threatening, and nothing hinting at connection with the devil.

  He had learned long ago from a conversation with Patrick that Halloween had started as a Pagan holiday, where the veil between worlds was thin and the Celtic Pagans would appease the spirits by giving them treats. His mother had been less than pleased when he spouted this fact off to her, and it resulted in many scathing remarks about Patrick's mother. 

  So now he just sat in his room, watching from his window as Rachel and Patrick walked with each other. They waved up to Daniel, and he waved down at them, and they continued on their way. To his parents, he was simply spending another night in doors. They had made pumpkin pie and hot chocolate, as they did every year. He had eaten and drank and been as merry as a twelve year old unable to trick-or-treat could be. He didn't plan to be miserable the entire night, he did have something he could do. 

  He told his father he was going to go see Abraham, since he was staying home to pass out candy. He then left his house, and bolted down the sidewalk to Patrick and Rachel. The two whirled around at the sound of footsteps trailing behind them, and Rachel waved.

  "Hey! Look who showed up!"

  "My parents don't know," Daniel wheezed, pressing his hands on his knees. He had been weaker since he had eaten the holly berries, but he was slowly regaining strength. Patrick helped him stand up, and the three looked at each other. All of them grinned.

  "We need to get you a costume,"

  "And a bucket." Patrick added. His burgundy hair was slicked back, and he had explained that he was Jay Gatsby, mainly at his father's insistence. And at her mother's insistence, Rachel was Daisy Buchanan. 

  They took Daniel to Rachel's house, the fire-haired girl rushing up the stairs and returning a few minutes later with a white sheet and some scissors. She cut in eye holes, tossing the bedsheet over his head, draping his figure and hiding his features.

  "There, now nobody will recognize you," she explained. Daniel, beneath the sheet, grinned.

  "Thank you guys, really-"

  "Here," Patrick shoved a plastic bucket to his chest. Daniel grasped its handle like his life depended on it.

  "Do you know how much longer we should have?" The blond asked. Rachel thought for a moment, she and Patrick exchanging looks.

  "Two hours, maybe, I'd say."

  Their town was small enough to cover within that time frame, at least the neighborhoods surrounding theirs, and so Rachel and Patrick broke into a run. Daniel rushed behind them, careful not to trip over the costume and to keep pace. 

* * *

 

  The three of them arrived at Patrick's house an hour and a half later, laughing and shouting and telling jokes. They stepped inside and Daniel shed his costume, and they dumped the buckets of candy on the living room floor.

  "The ritual has begun!" Rachel announced. Daniel flinched.

  "Ritual?"

  "Well, every year, Patrick and I split our candy and give each other whatever candy we don't want."

  "Oh," Daniel was still confused, but as he sat with them and they started to trade off pieces of chocolate and packets of gummies, he understood that this was a very important thing for the two of them, now three.  
  


  When all was finished, Daniel came home and slipped to his back door, where Rachel handed him a pillowcase with his candy inside. They exchanged conspiratorial grins, both placing a finger over their mouths to indicate silence, and Rachel slipped quietly into the night towards home. Daniel rushed upstairs, careful to shove his haul in a corner of his closet nobody would check, sitting in the floor and unwrapping pieces to eat. He didn't know that Halloween could be so fun, and if he could get away with it this smoothly, he might be sneaking out more often.  
  


  But for now, the twelve-year-old was content.


	14. Traitor

  November had settled lazily along the town of Cain, and Thanksgiving was just around the corner. People were removing their precious carved Jack-O-Lanterns from their patios and porches in favor of garlands of plastic leaves, adorning the railings and mimicking the colors of the trees. November in the south was a wild card; it could be as warm as March one day and as cold as December the next, and there was no telling which would be which.  
  
  Daniel was sick and tired of being called Lazarus. Anyone who called him that he wanted to scream at, tell them it was all false, he'd only seen void when he died for those few moments. He had come home from school and his backpack sat in the left corner of his porch, slouching as it stared out at the streets before them.  
The sky was a mottled light grey, churning with tinges of darker undertone, and the sleepy wind swept up the leaves in embraces and twirls and dances. The afternoon had been spent in primarily a distant sort of mindset. Daniel knew he would have to tell someone sooner or later. Explain why he no longer wanted to go to church. Explain why everyone raising him as a pillar of God's miracles twisted a blade in his chest every time. The wind rustled the brambles and Daniel breathed in the wet autumn air. His family had gone out to get ice cream after school to celebrate his grades being so high, and while that moment was still as bright in his mind as it should be, it was all tainted with the awful scent of secrecy soaked up slowly through the air around him.  
  
  Rachel rode up to his house on her red and white bicycle, leaning it's ivory handlebars against the tree in his yard and stumbling up the hill to his porch, taking her seat beside him on the steps.  
  
  "Hey!" She had a grin like a star, all bright and shining. He looked at her and hoped she didn't notice his guilty mind.  
  
  "Hey, did you have fun today?"  
  
  "Echh," She rolled her eyes, "My teacher is such a douche."  
  
  He flinched. He hadn't quite gotten used to her cursing. "I know, Mr. Motley can be..." He trailed off and Rachel scrunched up her nose. They laughed, and then she turned to him, her brow knit. His heart skipped a beat.  
  
  "You okay? You've been really weird lately."  
  
  "What?"  
  
  "Well, ever since-" she stopped, rolling her wrist, "Y'know..."  
  
  "I died."  
  
  "Yeah, ever since that, you've been so quiet. Did you see something? Oh my gosh, did you see God?!" Excitement rushed up her veins, her hands in fists as she pumped them against her knees, turning her body to face him,  
  
  "What did He look like?! Did He tell you anything?!"  
  
  He swallowed the lump in his throat.  
  
  She stopped.  
  
  "...You didn't."  
  
  "Rachel, it's not what I- what I saw, it's what I did not see."  
  
  "What do you mean?" Her throat and her hope tightened up inside her, watching the boy.  
  
  "I didn't see anything. As in, it was all just... Dark, nothingness."  
  
  She wanted to stop him, to accuse him of lying. Everything she had been taught told her that every muscle in her body should be fighting this boy's lies, this vehement blasphemy, but when she saw the look on his face she couldn't do anything but sit there.  
  
  "Oh. Well, that's a bit of a damper," She mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck. A few leaves dropped to the ground nearby.  
  
  "So do you understand why I don't like people calling me Lazarus?"  
  
  "Yeah." She nodded, swallowing, "Yeah. I do. I gotta go, Danny, but I'll talk to you tomorrow?"  
  
  He just bobbed his head and she grabbed her bike, and soon she was speeding down into town, her feet pressing harsh against the pedals.  
  


  
  
That night, it was time. Daniel had to tell his parents what he'd seen.  
  
  He sat at the dinner table with them. They had had such a good day, too. His father's work as a parallegal was going excellent, his mother's secretarial work was going well, and he had had rather spectacular grades this past semester. He listened to them chattering and finally broke it up, broke their words with his own.  
  
  "Momma? Dad?"  
  
  They turned to him.  
  
  "Yes, sweetie?" Sarah arched her brow, her voice too sweet, too kind.  
  
  "Um..." He fidgeted with his shirt. "I need to talk to you about what I saw when I- when I died."  
  
  "We already know what you saw, son," Gideon said simply, "You saw the angels, like we all know happens when-"  
  
  "No, actually, I didn't."  
  
  This shut them up. Gideon's fork was mid-way from his plate to his mouth when the words came from his son's lips. He slowly set the fork down, and both his parents turned their bodies to face Daniel fully.  
  
  "What do you mean?" The words came harshly from Sarah and he knew now that he should have kept his mouth shut, kept his words out of his mind.  
  
  "I didn't see anything," Daniel choked, "I didn't see our family or our angels or God. It was all dark, and it was so cold, and-"  
  
  "That's enough." Gideon's words cut through him. "Don't say another word, Daniel Joseph. You know what sort of trouble you're in with God for saying crap like that?"  
  
  "But He didn't-"  
  
_"Enough."_ Gideon snapped. Sarah frowned.  
  
  "Go to your room, Daniel. You are going to pray for God's forgiveness, and then as soon as possible we're getting your Baptized."  
  
  "But I don't want to!" Daniel's voice cracked as he protested, his own patience with them running thin.  
  
  "You sure as hell will want to when you finally just let God in. You need to stop telling dangerous lies, they'll do nothing good for you. Don't you know what the world outside is like for us? You've gotta be strong and firm in your faith, or you'll never survive out there with all the non-believers!" Sarah explained with her accusatory tone, her quivering lip. "Now, to your room. I expect to find you on your knees praying when I go to tell you goodnight."  
  
  _"Momma-"_ He creaked.  
  
  "Go."  
  
  
  He got up from his seat. He looked at the two of them, and for the first time saw how ingrained in their own beliefs they were. He trudged up the stairs and shut his door and got down on his knees, resting his elbows on his bed.  
  
  "God?" He whispered, wet trails down his face, cheeks hot and red, but he was at a loss for words. How could he speak to someone he didn't think was listening? It was like talking to a radio. Talking to a book. Something in his hands he could no longer associate with reality. He swallowed and pressed his face into his sheets, and he shuddered and tried to calm his breath but his chest was imploding on itself and his lungs were hazardous. He should have never brought it up. It was all his fault. Maybe God did hate him. Maybe that's why he didn't see Him and His angels. Maybe his family was right, and he was the blasphemous traitor they made him out to be in those short moments.  
  
  But at least they would no longer call him Lazarus.


	15. Blasphemous Rumors

  His mother gripped the steering wheel the next morning with her knuckles bleach-white, her blonde hair pinned neatly back and clasped in the jaws of a hair claw. The angle of the sun turned the deep ocher a tint of amber, and her steely eyes kept their gaze ahead. She worried at her lip quietly, Daniel seated in the passenger side with his hands folded in his lap. The air was a chilled feeling on both of their bones, and the heat refused to work in their car, defiantly sending them both into chilled states to match their tension.

  Sarah spoke up first.

  "Daniel, honey," She started, and his eyes darted to gaze out the window. "I'm sorry about last night. Your father and I just don't think it's..." She trailed off as she traced her mind for answers, explanations, words to gather up for her son. He slowly looked at her, blue and grey meeting for a moment before she turned back to the road. "...We just don't think it's right to go around telling lies." 

  So that was it, then, Daniel thought. They really thought he was lying. Then again, if someone had been raised in a religion their entire life to find out they had been wrong - or at least someone had found another answer, surely he could empathize. It had been jarring for he, too, when he woke to nothingness and cold. 

  He shuddered. The vents whirred to life and the hot air blasted at them, defrosting their bodies and their tension. He wanted to tell her it was all true, that he'd experienced nothingness, but he couldn't bring himself to. Not this early in the morning. Not at this moment. 

  They pulled up to the middle school and he jumped out from the car, rushing a quick 'love you' and slowly blending into the crowds of other children. The breath in his lungs felt stale, like he was slowly recovering from the conversation. He couldn't explain exactly what he had seen- what he had not seen, but he wanted to. The memory had bled itself into his dreams, his nightmares being of nothingness and darkness forever, on and on.

* * *

  
  
  His parents, that afternoon, told him that they had spoken to Brother White. They had concluded he had gone to hell.

  He had always been taught about the "age of acceptance". The age of acceptance, according to how he was raised, was an age limit on where children were permitted entry to heaven regardless of their affiliation. And in their opinions, he was not under that bar anymore, rather he was permitted entry into hell for not believing deeply enough. 

  He had been leaving the school, making the walk to his mother's car, when he saw his father was there as well. They had driven in silence, his blood cold. Had someone died? Were they going to the hospital? Was someone sick? Which way were they going? He didn't ask questions. He wanted to but he denied himself the privilege, sitting silent. They drove up to Iron Chapel Baptist Church, stepped out, and slowly made the way to Brother White's office. He greeted them, Abraham having just gotten out of school and sitting diligently at his father's side. Abraham. The boy with soft eyes and sweet laughs and the one who claimed he wanted to be a pastor one day, as well. He had the makings of one: good with other children, diplomatic, consoling. He was a shoulder to cry on if anyone needed it, and he had been raised being taught to help those in need. Daniel knew that one day Abraham would be the best pastor their town had ever seen, and he would make history in Cain. 

  But for now, Eden was burning around him as he was told that he had gone to hell.

  "It's the only way," Brother White explained, "That you could have ended up in such a dark place. Maybe hell is comprised of different components, but my boy, you surely saw it. Didn't you feel it? The anger? The anguish?" He was leaning across his desk, peering with narrowed eyes at the small blond who was folding in on himself, crumpling up, dissolving, "Didn't'ya see the devil, son?"

  "No," Daniel meekly replied. "Brother White, I'm telling you, I didn't see _anything._ It was just dark, and cold, and it was terrible." 

  "Hm." Brother White leaned back into his seat. "Perhaps we've gotta relearn what hell is, then. But I'm certain of it, you saw hell, and you just don't wanna say that it exists. Ain't that possible, Daniel?" 

  Daniel shot a nervous glance to Abraham, who was frowning now. He could sense Daniel's discomfort, and like a saint descended to Earth, he moved silently from his father's side to Daniel's. He stood between Daniel and Gideon, holding the blond's hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Daniel swallowed, looking at Abraham, then at Brother White. 

  How these two were father and son was beyond him. Maybe seminary school changed people. 

  "Brother White," Daniel whispered, then cleared his throat, throwing his voice out louder now, "Brother White, I'm- I'm not kidding you, I'm not lying, I didn't see anything when I died. I didn't see _fire,_ didn't see _God,_ didn't see the devil. I just saw... Darkness. It was- it was _so_ dark," Daniel was having a hard time keeping his breaths steady, and then Abraham squeezed his hand, then he cleared his throat as well.

  "Father," He spoke up, mild as usual, "Please, he's not... He's not a liar, you know him. Daniel's a good kid, he and I are friends, he wouldn't lie to me and definitely not to you." 

  Brother White sat for a moment in contemplative silence, and Sarah and Gideon exchanged glances above their son. 

  "I just don't want anyone startin' blasphemous rumors. You do know what blasphemy is, don't'ya, boy?" He leered at Daniel, who nodded quickly.

  "I do, sir, I-"

  "Then don't start sayin' nothin' about it. Blasphemy ain't something to be taken lightly."

  "I'm not taking it lightly..." Daniel whispered under his breath, his voice high and aching up his throat. Abraham slipped his hand from the other's palm to his shoulder, arm resting across it. He was always an affectionate thing, sweet to everyone, quiet. He kept his arm there, and when Brother White looked at them, he took a breath and exhaled, then made a gesture with his hand for them to leave.

  "Go. Thank you, mister and misses Hubbard. We'll be arranging his baptism shortly."

  "Baptism?" Abraham furrowed his brow.

  "Savin' his _soul,_ Abe. You know how it is."

  "Baptisms are- _father,_ baptisms are _voluntary._ You can't just _force_ someone to get baptized." He spluttered, at a loss with his father. Brother White frowned, deep lines forming in the crevices of his face.

  "Son, do you and I need to have a talk?"

  Abraham, resigned, just sighed and said no, shaking his head. 

  When Daniel and his parents left the office, moving from the church to the parking lot to the car, Sarah rubbed her temples.

  "Well, I'd say that could've gone much better," She mumbled, and without another word, started the car and drove them home.


	16. Baptism

  It was not right to say that Daniel had a cruel streak. He had been a loving child. A good-natured boy. 

  After he saw death and faced the depths of void, the inky murk of the nothingness, he felt something sick in himself. A twist of guilt, knife-dull. They told him he had gone to hell. He was a bad kid. He was a bad person. He had gone to hell. He was not pure.

  The Revival service that January burned more than any other sermon before it. Everyone was being prompted to turn others to God. To gather more converts, more souls, and Daniel couldn't help but feel that all of their eyes were on him, the multitudes watching him, his eyes locked on Brother White. He couldn't help but feel the peering into the back of his skull, the gazes acknowledging his sins. Unclean, unclean. And when they called for new followers of Christ, _would anyone like to embark on this tremendous and life-changing journey through Jesus Christ?_ His mother shoved him up very gently, a hand pressed at the middle of his back and moving upwards. And he stood, and a few other children and teenagers stood. And he felt like he was infiltrating, he was part of a mission, secret agent. No. 

  He was an intruder. 

  They were practically shrieking, the floorboards all practically screaming that he was unholy. Unclean. Intruder. He was their menace in the walls and in the rafters, he was the evil they worked so hard against. And he was still a child. He was twelve and he was walking with deliberation so as to not step too heavily, lest the floor give out too loud of a groan. The weight of his sins was more than he could bear.

  And all he had done was die. 

  He moved to the pastor as a spectre moved through a wall. And he was accompanied by the other children who moved forward. And they were prayed for and over and they were taken to speak about their baptisms and it all became a blur, a motionsick dizzy dance of speech.

 

* * *

  
  
  January mutated into February, which molted into March, which divulged April, and in May came the baptisms. With the blooming of magnolias and the sick sweet sickening humidity. Daniel had had plenty of time to think it over and did he think himself deserving? Did he receive God's love willingly or by force? Then by force this meant he was not Saved. He was not pure. He was unclean and his soul was the gnarled brambles of their lamentation.

  He moved to the basin slow and as the pastor spoke he did not move, he did not think. He thought his last thought before he was under, and it was only this:

_I shouldn't be lying to them._

  And then the water lapped over his head and he heard it fill up his ears.

 He was pulled up from the warmth and the congregation beamed and applauded. Daniel was a performer on a stage. He could hear them applauding for a whole different reason; a masterfully executed trick. A sleight of hand that shook the foundations of their earth. 

  The shivers that arched his spine moved with him as he stepped out, as he dried down and changed clothes in one of the classrooms of the chapel. He took a breath, he looked down at his fingers and his shoes and the water trailing down the back of his neck was cold now. Colder. He closed his eyes.

  One day, he told himself, he would not be an imposter. If he did not become part of their church, he'd lead people to give them hope. This church had done nothing but give him guilt since it had been discovered he saw nothingness. One day he would give people hope, a reason to live.

  But for now he was twelve, and he was drying himself off, and he made it back to the congregation.


	17. Like Swimming

After the Baptism, Daniel caught up with Rachel and Patrick outside. Patrick had a look of religious rapture in his eyes, the look of someone totally enveloped in the teachings of the Iron Chapel Baptist Church. He looked so bright and jovial, and all Rachel could do was glance at the ground, scuff her shoes in pebbles and cough into her hand.

“Danny,” She started, “That was uh, I’m uh, glad you’re baptized.”

She knew. She knew what he had told her was what he meant, and she did not doubt him. So she knew that the whole baptism, the whole church, everything they were a part of right now was not what waited at the end. It hurt, sending a pang of ache to Daniel’s chest, but he nodded.

“Thanks,”

“So what was it like?” Patrick asked, his eyes alight. He had yet to be baptized, his mother saying he should wait until he was older to make the decision. Daniel shrugged.

“Like swimming.”

“Like swimming?” Patrick leaned his head, “Are you sure? Didn’t you feel anything?”

“Yeah,” Daniel nodded, and for a moment Patrick looked brimming with glee, “Water.”

Patrick groaned. “No, Danny,” He was pouting like a smaller child, and Rachel looked at him. “I mean, did you feel Him? God? My daddy told me you feel God when you’re baptized. That’s what makes it a real spiritual experience.”

Daniel swallowed thickly, like his throat was filled with molasses and something caught there, keeping it all from passing down smoothly. Rachel snapped her gaze to Patrick.

“I’ll tell you later,” she hissed. Then Daniel stopped them, his bright eyes all cerulean and timid.

“No, I-” He stopped. “I’ll tell you. Later, though. When we’re away from the church.”

Patrick looked disappointed, dark eyes gazing at the ground, a frown tugging his mouth. Then he looked to Rachel, whose face was solemn, and he understood that it was something that could not be tossed out into the open. The words Daniel would speak were something to be deliberated and treated with reverence. 

“Okay,” He replied, but was clearly dissatisfied. He would not let them forget this, that they were absolutely to tell him as soon as possible. Daniel’s parents waved him over, Sarah Jolene beaming at her son.

“Come on, you’re gonna miss your own party.”

Oh, right. They had decided to go out to eat to celebrate. He looked up at them and saw in their eyes that they were happy, happier than they ever seemed. His heart was gripped by the hands of his dread, tight and tighter and squeezing ‘til he could hardly breathe. He walked with shaky legs and he made his way to their car, and began the drive to Lafayette’s.


	18. Sinking Feeling

  June, swinging in front of his face like a gleeful child, brought forth with it the shifting tides of a child's mind. Gathered in Rachel's bedroom, Patrick kicked his legs back and forth, seated at the edge of the red-head's bed. 

  "So, what'd you guys not tell me?" Patrick asked, with his big amber eyes fixed on his two friends. Rachel stood solemnly by the door, and Daniel made his careful steps forward. 

  "It's hard to explain," He swallowed thickly, words like molasses sticking together in his teeth, bitter licorice dissolved on his tongue, "But- I need you to hear me out, okay?" 

  Patrick leaned his head. His voice was quiet, "Okay?"

  Rachel came and sat beside him. She pressed her palm over his hand, smoothing her fingers along his, and gave Daniel a firm nod. To reveal the secrets of the universe was to divulge the end of their world as they knew it. It would be burned and shattered behind them in a field of glass and smoke and deceit, but they had to do this. No secrets.

  "Patrick, when- when I _died,_ " Daniel slumped the words out of his mouth to prop them against one another, a firm foundation, "When I died, I didn't _see_ God, I didn't see the devil, I didn't _see_ anything. And I really mean, I didn't see _anything._ " They hurt. The words scorched his throat and made him sick, knotting fists in his gut and tightening a hold over his neck. He was small, smaller still, and in the gaze of the universe he felt like an ant. He didn't want to tell him. He never liked hurting Patrick any way it was done, whether over a silly board game or a mean joke. He never liked hurting him. 

  And now here he was, plucking his world apart with his nimble fingers. 

  The burgundy-haired boy was silent for a minute. Rachel took her hand from his. He nodded sagely at Daniel, then, and smoothed his hand back over his ear, tucking a strand of hair away.

  "You... No angels? No uh, _nothing?_ "

  "Nothing." Daniel confirmed with a timid nod. Patrick was quieter than he'd ever been in his life, but beneath, his mind was racing. A million different thoughts led themselves through his head, strung out like threads across a loom, weaving together the coherency that was needed for sentences. Finally, he looked to Daniel and then to Rachel, and with a decisive shake of his head, frowned deeply at the two of them.

  "I don't believe you."

  "But Patrick-" Rachel's shoulders dug themselves back into the air, hands balled at her sides. "It's true! Danny wouldn't lie about this- he just wouldn't, okay?"

  "I don't. Believe. You." Patrick's tone was the snarling of a wolf pup at them, a low and high tone all the same, danger in his eyes. "My daddy taught me better than to believe people's lies like that."

  "Patrick."

  It all went quiet, and Rachel and Patrick turned to the blond boy with tear-welled, baby blue eyes. The hurt in Daniel's voice was palpable, like digging a trowel into his heart and shoveling the ache out for them to sift through. To find the source. They were all silent as spectres, restless and waiting for the investigator to ask a question into the tape recorder. 

  "Why would-" Now it was Patrick's turn to whisper words, his stomach a sinking stone into the depth of the universe, "Why would everyone lie? I don't understand, why did we get raised with lies, if none of it's true?" 

  Rachel and Daniel faced each other with a sort of wizened gaze, obtained from contemplation of the very same question. "We don't know," Daniel shrugged like Atlas, "We think it's because none of them know? And it's like... If I hadn't died, then I wouldn't know, either. It's like, no one really _knows,_ so we're going with what we were taught."

  Patrick moved up from the bed and to the window, his amber eyes catching the light and for that moment, Daniel's breath caught as well. His stomach tightened and his chest swelled when the sun caught Patrick's features, and then he wanted to crawl in a hole and die, and he wanted to go back to oblivion rather than know what he did. The words of his mother still rang like funeral bells and he wanted to tell her no, that he wasn't what she'd called him behind his back, that he was just a kid and he was just his friend and- 

  When Rachel stood and clapped her hands together, he flinched.

  "Wanna..." She was apprehensive to break up silence, and the intensity of it was such that it was almost tangible, to be turned around between their fingers, "Wanna continue reading Harry Potter?"

  They were all in silent agreement, and so the three climbed down onto her rug and she pulled out the books, and they started again. 

  The rush of power at controlling what was heard, said, what he let slip through his fingers, when Daniel read he couldn't suppress this. For a twelve year old, he was starting to see something more, glimpsing it beyond their small Georgian town. He was able to give them something, give them the entire world contained between the covers of this book, and who knows what he could do with more. He could pour it all into their ears or he could choose to stop and it all depended on him, alone. And it was power. It was power he was tasting and he could not help his drunkenness on it.

 And when the pressure of power built against the dam of his mind, it was the end of his turn, the chapter coming to a close and Rachel snatching the heavy book, pulling it into her lap, and grinning wildly.

  "One more chapter, okay guys?" She chirped, and both boys nodded, and it was as though oblivion was forgotten for a day.


	19. Anti-Midas

  Even with how much Daniel adored Patrick, there was a part of him that absolutely despised him. It was a disgusting part of his heart, twisted up in iron and burning on the spike. Because he knew exactly why he loathed him. Every time he saw him he saw gold, and the heart that pumped ichor through young veins. He was a portrait of an angel and Daniel could spare none of the winged beasts of heaven. 

  Which is why, that July, Daniel had to break it down. The walls had to be propped up. His mother was already suspicious ever since that Valentines, and had pushed him harder than ever to chase after the local girls of Cain Silvers Middle School. _Cain Atticus Silvers, town founder, somewhere around 1836._ He rolled the fact around in his head, the tiniest tidbit, a little bit of information connecting the town he lived in now to it's founder.

 _Digressing._ His brain always digressing. He was stressing and his brain a winding trail of thought, spinning round to a center point. He saw the road as he walked but _did he see it?_ His heart was thumping and he didn't know. Because he saw this road and the house down the street. His best friend since he was a toddler lived there. And now, after about ten years of friendship, he was trudging up the porch steps and saying goodbye. He inhaled as deep as twelve-year-old lungs could inhale. His chest burned and he _swore_ his lungs would pop like a balloon. Breathe out. He knocked on the door. 

  Rose Sartoris, Patrick's mother, a bright woman with a large and warm figure. Like the blooms of her namesake, her cheeks were a youthful pink and her chin, dimpled and small on a heart-shaped face, was like the end of a Valentines card. She embraced Daniel for a moment, and he looked at her and his heart shook. He was going to break off a ten year friendship with this woman's son, whose burgundy hair was hers, and whose warm complexion was hers. He greeted her curtly, prompting a furrowed brow from Rose.

  "Daniel, honey?" She lightly pressed her hands to her wide hips, "What seems to be the matter? You look pale, darlin'."

  He shook his head, "I'm fine," He smiled as best he could, and peeked behind her into the house. "Can I speak with Patrick?"

  "Why, absolutely!" She turned, called for her son, and brought Daniel inside. He moved to the dining room, knowing this house like his own, and sat down at the table. When Patrick came in, his face was a beaming beacon, and he rushed up to Daniel. Things had been odd since Daniel had told him what he'd seen - or rather, what he'd _not_ seen - and he hadn't smiled like this in some time. He pulled Daniel up from the chair, and he looked like the very embodiment of excited energy. 

  "Danny!" He chirped, "Danny, guess what, _guess what?_ "

  "What?" Daniel was a bit taken aback by his friend's demeanor, the cheer in everything he was, the gold in his eyes. Daniel wanted to smash that gold to pieces, shatter it, the Anti-Midas. He would turn it all to rust and decay. He felt the anger bubbling up in him, first at Patrick and then at himself. He subdued it for now.

 _"Well,"_ Patrick was laughing even when he spoke, even when he wasn't. There was simply a laughter about him, like it was implied. "My mom and I are gonna be gettin' you something super special for your birthday this year!"

  "Patrick Virgil," Rose chided, "Don't you tell him what it is! It's a surprise!" She placed a finger over her lips, a silence, and Patrick grinned like a fool.

  "Okay mom," He said, then stepped out to the hall, "We'll be outside!" Rose waved them out, and Patrick and Daniel stepped to the porch. "So Danny, what's up?" 

  "I uh-" Daniel's throat caught there, in place, like swallowing a bowling ball. He watched Patrick shove his fists into his pockets and sway and move idly, unable to be still always, always moving. "I have to tell you something- I think it's important."

  Sobering up, Patrick knit his brow. He stopped moving and that's what hurt the most- the always shifting Patrick was stock still. "What's... What's wrong?" He sounded hurt already and it choked Daniel like a rope. He bit his lip.

  "Patrick, I'm- I'm sorry, but I can't keep doing this. I can't just be your friend anymore. I can't. I know it sounds ridiculous and I'm sorry but I can't," He was drowning, a dead man at the bottom of the sea. Patrick pursed his lips, folded his arms over his chest, striped shirt the autumnal colors that complimented him so well. 

  "And why's that, Danny?" His voice was winter-cold, too cold for a child, too much for Daniel. He breathed, shoulders slumping, eyes up at the sky as though the God he didn't even know existed would help him out a little.

  "I don't know, there's just something bad, whenever I see you I feel sick and it's really, really bad. I don't want to do this, but I can't-"

  "Oh, so I _sicken_ you?"

  "That isn't what I said-"

  "Fine, Danny, if I sicken you so much, just go."

  Patrick's eyes were steel, like amber that was frozen under ice, and he shut the front door as he stomped inside. Daniel, alone, knew there was only one thing he could do.

  With a heavy heart and heavier steps, he left. He had to talk to Rachel.


	20. Repentance

  "So wait, you did what?"

  Rachel's face bore the exasperated expression of someone who was not only in faint disbelief, but fed up with her friend and his actions. Daniel shrunk back, quiet. Could he tell her? He had to keep this a secret. But it was Rachel! But it didn't matter. He inhaled.

  "I told Patrick that he- he makes me feel sick, and that I didn't want to continue to be his friend, but he took it the wrong way." 

  Daniel's voice sounded softer than he ever allowed it. Even in the dead of night and alone with his thoughts, his tone had never felt this quiet, and this exhausted. Rachel, heaving an award winning sigh, rubbed the bridge of her nose.

  "Wow. Danny, you're a friggin' idiot." She grumbled. "Did you at least tell him why he makes you sick? Wait, why does he make you sick?"

  "I don't know," He blurted out, mouth running ahead of mind, "He just does, and I can't figure out why." 

  She was silent, hands on her hips, the blond sitting at the edge of her bed. She looked out her window at their neighborhood, then turned back to Daniel and with another long and exaggerated breath, she grabbed his shoulders and held him firm in her hands. "You need to apologize. I will not have my two best friends acting like idiots for the rest of my life without a decent reason."

  Daniel looked at her, the way her dark eyes gleamed with frustration, her red hair amplifying the faint red of her cheeks. Rachel had been their friend since their earliest days, and there was nothing on earth she despised more than the thought of their trio being split, and now that rift was starting to stretch out and break them all up. Daniel inhaled, stood, and Rachel pat his arm.

  "Good. Go get 'em." Her deep frown was a canyon over her face, and her nose scrunched up like crumpled paper. Daniel nodded. He left the house and he walked down the street with his heart thundering and screaming and threatening to break out of his chest. He had nothing he could do in this situation. He couldn't run, he couldn't hide, and his parents would give him hell for causing a rift between the Hubbard and the Sartoris' families. He had heard some old tale of Rose - or was it Veronica Willcox? - being close to his father in high school, but once his mother had come along, it had shifted. His and Patrick's friendship, alongside his friendship with Rachel, was seen as the glue that held them all together. He couldn't let anyone down.

  Knocking on the door with his throat threatening to spill out of his mouth and his heart to follow, he stood. "Mrs. Sartoris?"

  "Daniel," While her expression was calm, there was an innate curiosity in her eyes. Patrick must have told her, and his heart sank now down to his stomach. "Is something wrong?"

  "No, I mean, yes, but... Where's Patrick?"

  "Upstairs. He came in lookin' real upset after talking to you." 

  "I'm sorry, can I..." He swallowed, "...Can I see him?"

  "Yes, of course, come on in." 

  She left the doorway and he fled up the stairs, knocking on the door. Here was his chance. He couldn't waste it. He waited and waited and was about to knock again when Patrick called from inside. He turned the knob, his head burning with a thousand apologies, all lighting up along his scalp.

  "P- Patrick?"

  "What the hell, Danny." 

  He wasn't facing him, and it wasn't a question. A statement. He was sitting on his bed, back to Daniel, eyes to his various posters and the window. "We've been friends practically since we were born, and now you wanna break it off?"

  "I'm sorry."

  "You should be."

  Long pause. Daniel stepped in, closed the door, and wringing his hands he finally decided to present a half-truth. "I don't know why you make my stomach feel awful, like I'm sick, but I don't want it any more than you do. So I'm going to try to stop it. And I want to be your friend, I do, but I'm scared."

  "Of what?"

  He couldn't say it. Another lie spilled out. "I guess, losing you?" 

  Patrick shifted, turned, and looked at the baby blue eyed boy standing in his room. "What do you mean?"

  "You know, ever since I told you about... I don't know what I saw, but the darkness. I'm afraid you hate me for it."

  "What?" Patrick, incredulous, leaned back slightly. He sat straight up again, laughing a rueful and dry laugh. "Danny, I could never hate you. You're like, my best friend." 

  He waited, but nothing else came. Then Patrick stood, and straightened up his shirt. "Look," He breathed, "I can't pretend to understand your motivations, but you're still my friend, and I do wanna keep being friends. So maybe we could uh, try to set this all behind us for now?"

  For now. The promise of future conversation. But it didn't matter. Daniel nodded. In his mind he was reliving all the possible moments he could have broken it off before it hurt this bad. When they were five. When they were seven. Three, before they really knew each other. Back in the first grade when Patrick went on vacation for two weeks and Daniel was stuck in town. Every possible opportunity bloomed like hyacinths in his brain and he couldn't suppress their glow. And they grew with guilt-stained petals, and a sickness twisted up his stomach again, knotting like a snake in a pit. He watched as Patrick stepped over, and presented his hand. Daniel shook it timidly, then Patrick led him downstairs. 

  "Mom, we're going for a walk," He called before they exited the house. He led Daniel slowly through town, down the sidewalks, past the shops, and back to the little piece of paradise Patrick had shown him years ago. They climbed a large and tired tree, pulling themselves up it's branches and swinging their legs over. They looked down on the town, how people mingled and walked and cars shimmered by as they drove down streets which shifted hues in the sun, the whole chorus of birds swelling in crescendo around them.

  "Rachel talked to you, I take it?"

  Daniel twisted himself to look at Patrick, brow knit.

  "How did you guess?"

  "'Cause you had this look on your face like you might pass out." Patrick laughed, his voice burrowing itself in Daniel's heart, his laughter making his chest swell up and rise and sing with the birds. He shook his head. Steadied himself. "I get that look, too, when I know I goofed and she's lettin' me have it."

  Daniel grinned, nodding, "She's got us on a tight hold, doesn't she?"

  "She better," Patrick rolled his eyes, "She's got her hands full, needs to keep her favorite boys in line."

  They both laughed, and watched Brother White's car drive up to the church, the meek form of Abraham filing out and helping his father carry boxes into the church. They watched as Jason and Johnny Taylor played baseball down the street, with Jason fumbling with the bat, but Johnny pitching like he was born to play. They both invited Charlotte and Darlene from down the street to join them, and soon their childhood friends - minus Rachel and Abraham - had all converged in an all-out war, the weapons being their arms, their hands, the ball, the bat. They were competitive as souls could be, and Patrick watched with intense eyes. Daniel watched Patrick with similar intensity. The tiny movements of his face. The scrunching of his nose. The widening of his eyes. The rise and lower of his brows.   
He turned away as he felt his ears heat, and gave a withered sigh. He and Patrick stayed like that for an hour, swinging their legs, watching everyone until they were called away.

  "So, Danny," Patrick turned to him, the light changing everything to gold, bright and perfect like an angels' halo. "Do you wanna go home and watch a movie or something?"

  "Uh... I think I need to ask momma first."

  "We're almost thirteen," Patrick frowned, "Your momma isn't gonna care."

  "She will." Daniel's voice firmed, strengthened, and Patrick's expression shifted. "Please, let me just-"

  "My mom can call her." Patrick protested. Daniel considered this for a moment, and finally, he gave in. Nodded.

* * *

  They made their way to Patrick's house. When Rose returned from the kitchen, her lips were drawn in a thin line. She didn't look pleased, and to Daniel, anger was crossing her features, ears and cheeks painted faint red.

  "Sorry," Was all she said to them, and Daniel stood. 

  "Thank you for asking," He said, waved goodbye, left.  
  
  He didn't want to go home. If his mother had snapped at Rose, one of the sweetest ladies in Cain, then something was wrong.


	21. Fiery Place

  The walk home was a trek of trepidation, hands at his sides. Daniel saw his house up on the hill, the car in the driveway. Car. His father's was gone. His mother's sat stubbornly in the shade of an oak, the front steps begging him forward to know why there was a rip in the way things normally were, a tear in the quiet fabric of their lives. He trudged up the steps and at each stair a tender ache burned his ankles, the fear shooting electric pain to his heart. What was going on? Where was his father? He opened the door and peered inside. He opened it further.

  His mother sat on the couch, rubbing her temples, her breaths leaving her quick and rushed. Half a glass of water sat on the coffee table. Shoulders slumped in the fabric of her grey dress, she could be mistaken for a statue were it not for the rise and fall of her chest. Daniel landed one foot on the wooden floor, and she snapped her gaze up.

  "Gideon?"

  His chest hurt to hear that tone. He knew that tone of voice. It rang of aftermath, shouting, the slightest quirk of pitch and the rough undertone. He swallowed thickly and moved inside, shutting the door.

  "No, momma."

  She sighed and slumped further, entire body crumpled up on itself. Daniel's eyes stung, watching her place her hands over her eyes. For all Sarah Jolene was, she was still his mother, and maybe it was his upbringing and maybe it was just his perception of the world, but he still didn't like to see her disappointed or in pain. He moved to sit at her side, yet he felt like he wasn't supposed to be there. He was an intruder in a house he barely knew and he was a monster wandering hallowed ground. He opened his mouth again, but the words couldn't move through his throat, all that came out was a breath. Sensing the question on his lips, Sarah took a moment to drink more water down, and he could see how red her eyes were.

  "Your father's a reckless man," She scolded, but all the bitterness was novocaine-numb. She was a shell of herself. "He thinks his actions don't have consequences. Gosh." 

  Every time she spoke it was a breath of exhaustion, and Daniel's chest clenched up. "What- what do you mean?" 

  "He must think that whiskey's God's miracle-cure." A pause, she craned her neck to look at her son, his baby blue eyes softening. "Daniel, honey, we had a fight. I ain't telling you much about it, but your father's gonna be sleepin' somewhere else tonight if he knows what's good for him."

  This could mean a variety of things, Daniel thought. It could mean he was sleeping on the couch because she didn't want to be with him. It could mean he was going to be unable to drive. It meant a million things and he couldn't sort it out, brain clogged like a drain full of ideas and opinions and the world around him was dim, now. Darkening. A question filled up his mouth and before he could stop it, it was out in the open.

  "Miracle cure for what?"

  She didn't reply for a while, thinking. Sarah Jolene was a rough woman, even though she was like a rose to people of Cain, she was a thorny vine to Daniel, strangling tight to things he knew and snuffing out the light of things he was. He waited patiently, and when she gathered up her words, she threw them down.

  "He won't tell me, but he just... Won't listen, and it's destructive." 

  He didn't push further for information. He sat quietly with her, and after the silence became unbearable she looked back to Daniel, and her breath hitched in her throat. "Son," She started, "I know we haven't been... The best family, but I want that to change. I do. I-" Choking on her words, she hesitated, "I want to be a better momma, and your father- he wants to try being a better dad, things are just stressful. We love you, we do, but we don't understand you, I guess." 

  He couldn't breathe for a second, everything catching him off-guard. It was like someone was wearing his mother's skin, replacing her, moving her mouth but not being her at all. Her grey-blue eyes felt warmer now, soft and tender, the eyes that should have been fixed on him for the past twelve years. No, for the past five. No. When did she start becoming cold? When did she and Gideon stop being the warm fires of his life that kept him alive, that sustained and nurtured him throughout his childhood? What had changed to make them cold? He could never find one specific moment, only that somehow, something had changed, and they had changed. Daniel had gone on, living as witness to their ways and testimony to the days they spent either at each other's throats, or showing love, or being a lukewarm mix of both. He didn't understand it, and perhaps he never would, but this was the way life had been and would continue to be, as far as he could see.

  "...Alright." Daniel mumbled, all he could get out, "I wanna be a better son, but that... That means you need to listen to me, I think." There was no 'I think' about it. They had not listened to him since he had come forth and told them what he'd seen in those few moments of death, the weary darkness and the sweeping cold.

  She didn't reply, but she finished the glass of water and rested her face in her hands, steadying her breathing. He moved up from the couch, and as slow as a spectre, he made his way to his room. 

  It wasn't nearly time for bed, but he felt tired now, and he didn't want to see what would happen when his father got home.


	22. Imposter

  Descending the stairs that morning was a scene out of an old painting, depicting poet and angel and gates down. Daniel moved slow and quiet, listening in to the quiet whispers coming from the kitchen as the sun trickled through the leaves and branches of the trees. 

  "...Can't go out like that and just _ignore_ me."

  "Jolene, I needed air."

  "You came home drunk."

  "And? I may have needed it. Things have been tough lately."

  He blinked, and moved down another step. _Creak._ He mentally cursed himself as the conversation snapped shut like a box. Daniel moved down the stairs, and found himself in the kitchen with the aftermath of conversation still turning slow like the blades of a ceiling fan. He sat down at the table, Gideon perched in a chair with his tie undone and shirt half-buttoned. The smell of fresh pancakes helped to perfume the air, shooing out the anxiety. 

  "Did you sleep well?" Gideon asked Daniel, his eyes ringed with circles. He was exhausted, head pounding. The hammer of the night before slamming into his skull.

  "I did." Daniel nodded. He was a shy twelve year old, withdrawn since his incident. He looked at his mother, whose hair was pinned up and tight to her head. 

  "Your father and I were talking," She started, not turning to face the two of them, "And we decided that at least once a week, we're all going to go out and do something as a family. How does that sound?"

  Daniel just listened, unsure of how to respond. He looked between his father and his mother, the faces that looked much colder on this summer's morning than he expected of them. He swallowed. "Alright."

  "We may go hiking, maybe we can go find your mother's sense of humor." Gideon snickered, but his tone was slow and bitter. Sarah whipped around frowning at her husband.

  " _Gideon Everest-_ "

  " _Jolly Jolene,_ that was a _joke_. You've got _plenty_ of humor in you." He frowned. As the pancakes were served and Sarah sat down, she looked between the two. She couldn't decide how to proceed. Her son not believing, her husband melancholic. She had been with Gideon for a long time, and those first years had been good. High school had been nice. And college had been great. And now they sat like strangers, with the son they raised and who was learning from the two of them each day. She twisted her wedding band on her finger, and exhaled.

  "Alright, who wants to say this morning's blessing?" 

  Daniel didn't respond, neither did Gideon for a while. They all sat in uncomfortable silence, shifting, as though their breakfast was watching them with judgemental shifting glances. Solemnly, Gideon spoke, "She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come." Both Sarah and Daniel looked between themselves, then to Gideon, who shrugged his shoulders and pressed a fork into the pancakes on the plate before him. "Proverbs 31:25." 

  "And is that your blessing this morning?" Tension in her voice, Sarah looked at her husband. He leaned his head to the side, a tiny _pop_ from the way he moved his skull about, and as he righted his neck he shrugged again.

  "Might as well be. It's a damn good lesson for this family." He muttered. Daniel tensed, shrinking in on himself. Sarah, noticing this, looked at Gideon and worried at her lip. Her red lipstick rubbed onto her white teeth, smearing. 

  "Gideon, please. What we talked about."

  He was silent, looking between his son and his wife, before he nodded. "Right. 'Scuse me."

  Daniel had more questions than he knew what to do with, like what they had been talking about earlier, like how his father, a paralegal, could recite a verse like that from memory and out of the blue. It occurred to him then that yes, he had been with them for twelve, almost thirteen years, but they had lives before his. They had worlds before his had begun, and perhaps there was something buried in each of their worlds as they built and burned their own bridges between them. The family ate in silence, quietly passing maple syrup and sipping on coffee and orange juice. Things were going to improve, but it was a two step forward, one step back process. Daniel wanted things to get better soon, though. He wanted to remember them fondly one day, instead of share these memories with someone in the future and see only pity or surprise on their features. He wanted to remember his mother as a strong and stubborn woman. He wanted to remember his father as a sarcastic and stable man. 

  But all he saw before him were imposters of those people, whose masks laid beside them as they ate.


	23. A Walk

  The time after breakfast, when the kitchen was the sound of a sink and of dishes clattering around, had less tension to it. It was Sarah's turn to do the dishes, and as she cleaned, Gideon and Daniel talked at the table.

  "Daniel, can you still crack your neck?" His father asked, with a smirk on his lips.

  "I think so," Daniel nodded, and leaned his head quickly to the left. A cracking like a whip in the air resounded, and Sarah flinched.

 "Hon, don't you _dare_ teach our son your bad habit." She chided. Gideon, in response, cracked his neck.

  "Why-" _crack,_ "not?" _crack._ "It's not a bad-" _crack_ , "-habit, Jolene." _Crack._ Each one caused Sarah to cringe, and when he stopped, she threw a deep and heavy sigh down out of her mouth.

 "Yeah-" _crack,_ "-momma, it's not that bad of a-" _crack,_ "-habit!" Daniel piped up, grinning, stars in his eyes. This was one of the few times he felt close to them, joking around, annoying each other as he often heard other families did. There were always moments of normalcy like this in the middle of everything, digging themselves out and showing the world that there's more to them than they put on. 

  Sarah, exasperated, could only heave a louder sigh.

  "Aw, come on, son-" _CRACK-_ "-Let's leave your-" _CRACK!_ "-mother alone." Gideon grinned at his son, righting his skull on his neck once more. All either one had to do was lean their head to either side, and the cracks and pops and snaps would resound. It was a genetic trait, no one knew how to explain it, but Gideon's mother before him had been notorious for cracking her neck in silence to break it, to make everyone snap back to reality. Daniel had taken after his father in this, leaning his head to the side often when he was confused or agitated, a crack or two echoing out in those types of moments.

  "Alright-" _CRACK_ "-dad, let's go see-" _CRACK_ "-what the neighbors are doing today." Daniel and Gideon turned to Sarah, who was now aggressively scrubbing a pan. Gideon rose up, slowly lumbering to his wife, wrapping his arms around her waist and giving her a small peck on the cheek.

  "Love you, jolly Jolene." He mumbled, before unwrapping his arms. She relaxed, shoulders slumping. Then, as he stepped back, he leaned his head to the side. _Crack._

  "Ughh- y'all are _aggravating!"_ She exclaimed, a full-body shudder through her system, but all the while there was something like a smile on her mouth. A normal morning, a good morning, everything was okay this morning.

  Daniel hopped up from his chair, making his way to the door.

  "I'm gonna go for a walk," He called back, before stepping outside. Cain was a small enough town where there was seldom fear of things happening to the children, except the occasional broken arm or leg. Daniel took in a breath of summer air and for a second, he marveled at how he almost hadn't made it to this summer. How only a year ago he'd been in a hospital bed, fighting for his life. How his entire life had changed. Walking down the sidewalk, he looked at the world around him, white and yellow and red and blue flowers all blooming in alternating shades in various gardens, white houses and blue houses and other shades all beautifully arranged, a picturesque little town lined with trees and fences and manicured lawns. 

  A poke on his shoulder shocked him, and he whipped around on his heel to see the face of Abraham White, with his bright forest eyes and a huge smirk on his lips.

  "Sorry Danny, did I scare you?" He asked. His voice was always barely audible. He was as silent as a church grim, with hair as white as a wedding veil. No matter what his father said about Daniel, Abraham always spoke kindly to him, and stood up for him when he could. Daniel chuckled, shaking his head.

 "Surprised me, yeah, but-" He inhaled, "Anyways. How're you?"

  Abraham shrugged, and joined Daniel in his walk. "I'm alright. Daddy's got a lot on his mind, but we're good. You?"

  "Pretty good," Daniel nodded. The two carried on a conversation for some time before Daniel felt the back of Abraham's hand brushing his own, the other's fingers barely making the reach for his, slow and undetermined, ready to drop away at a moment's notice. Daniel knit his brow. "...Abraham?"

  Abraham, noticing the other's visible confusion, balled his fists and stuffed them in his pockets. "Yeah?"

  Daniel paused, watching him, studying the other. There was an edge of anxiety to him, a hint of something he couldn't quite read, but he didn't say anything. He just shook his head, and the two picked up their conversation and placed it on their shoulders once more. They talked about school, their prior school year and the upcoming one. The eighth grade was going to sweep them up and bring them to it's arms, and they were preparing. Daniel would be thirteen in August. Abraham would turn thirteen in December. They were both anxious, excited, unsure of what this truly meant for their lives. 

  "Danny, can I ask you something?" Abraham paused his walk, looking at the other blond, worrying at his lip. 

  "Yeah, anything," Daniel turned his torso to face Abraham, whose blue t shirt was tucked into his jeans, even though there was no reason to leave it tucked. He looked meek and small, one of the many flowers sprouting in the gardens that lined the neighborhood.

  "Well- uh, have you ever really liked someone, but you didn't know what to say?" 

  He did, Daniel had and did and Abraham's question hit him square in the face. He was knocked back by it, despite his feet not moving from their place. He waited, thinking, and then nodded. "Yeah."

  "Did you ever know how to tell them?" His face was anxious now, eyes shifting to glance around them, at the various houses and rows of streets and the trees that watched over them, the leaves like eyes peering into their very chests, the bark like ears listening. Daniel didn't understand the timid way Abraham was asking these questions, but he just shook his head.

  "No, not really, but whoever it is, good luck." He smiled at Abraham, and the other smiled timidly back, and they laughed. And then they continued to walk, talking about the town and new things happening a town over, and the world as it made sense to them. 

  It would not hit Daniel until years down the line, when they had been through much more, that Abraham had not used any specific pronouns to refer to the person of his affection, and with this realization would come another of his own. But for now, they were twelve and laughing in a small town, that for now, seemed alright. Like everything would be okay, and they would be okay, as well.


	24. The Taylor Boys

  He said he didn't want to go to church anymore. 

  In Cain, this wouldn't fly. His mother gave him a glance, then further a stare. "What?" She asked, arching her brow. Daniel sat at the table. It was five days until his thirteenth birthday, and preparations were being made. 

  "I don't wanna go to church anymore," He shrugged, "Momma, you know what I said about- y'know. The incident, and I don't really see a point in goin' if it's doing me no good-"

  "Sitting around the house all Sunday mornin' don't do you no good either," She rolled her eyes, grey-blue, much more frigid than his own. He took in a breath. Gideon was at work, so the conversation remained between them for now, mother and son and the cold looks they gave each other. She exhaled, turning fully to face him. "I know what you... Didn't see. I know you say you saw nothin', but maybe that means you didn't really die?"

  "Momma, it flat lined, dad said so himself," Daniel drew his mouth in a frown as flat as the heart monitor had gone, "I was gone, I wasn't- momma, please, I don't wanna say I'm wastin' my time, but it sure isn't going to do me any good." 

  Sarah slid her fingers through her bangs. She had been fixing coffee when her son came into the room and asked to talk, and they had stood apart until Daniel sat, watching his mother. Everyone said they looked alike. In the light of mid-morning he saw it, vague and more of an apparition, but the way their hair gleamed in sun and the way they both had round, blue eyes. It would be hard to say he wasn't her son. She saw it, too, the way his jaw would someday resemble his father's and the way his cheekbones were close to hers. She took a moment to compose her thoughts before leaning her back against the counter, palms pressed into the rounded edge.

  "Daniel, hon, I told you I'm gonna try to be a better momma, didn't I? And part of that is making sure, especially now, that you go to church. You need to get back in touch with God, He may be the only help you have on day."

  She let the words draw themselves from her lips, accented in magnolia and peach, and echoing inside Daniel's head, where they seemed to dissolve into nothing. He swallowed, but he didn't retort. Not now. He just sat and nodded his head. There was no getting out of this, it seemed. 

* * *

 

  By noon, Lazarus was dead. News travels fast in a small town, and one phone call from Sarah to Veronica Willcox had led to Veronica telling Rose, to Rose telling Nanette, and it was game over. Daniel had been walking through the neighborhood, looking for something to do, when the Taylor boys rushed up to meet him. Johnny and Jason Taylor, twins, both with bright blue-green eyes and dark hair, with smiles like constellations, all crooked and winding and wide. They caught up with him like a storm, and looked at Daniel.

  "So we heard from our mama what happened," Johnny started. Dread raced through Daniel's system, a low and rumbling sort, like a hailstorm oncoming. He swallowed.

  "Yeah?" 

  "And we just wanted to say," Johnny reached a hand over, patting Daniel's back. He flinched, but then furrowed his brow at the kind of awkward affection in it, "If people start actin' all nasty to you, let us know, okay?" 

  "Uh..." He was taken off-guard, to be sure. He knew most of his peers were going to give him awful backlash, but he had expected the Taylor boys to be among them. Instead, there they stood on either side of him. "...Okay?" 

  "Rachel's our friend, and your her friend, so by extension, you're our friend." Johnny nudged Daniel playfully with his elbow, and Jason snickered with a twinkle in his eyes. "So let us know, seriously, things are gonna get tough." 

  Daniel knew this better than they did. Things had already gotten tough when he'd been forced into a baptism. Things had gotten tough when he'd been told he had gone to hell. Things had gotten tough when he had died. He knew things were bad, but he understood their offer was genuine, just by the looks in their eyes. Jason wasn't much of a liar, and Johnny only stuck by people he liked, ever since he was a toddler. He looked at his brother, who pulled out a pack of gum, giving both of them sticks. They chewed the mint gum in silence all together, and Daniel for the first time realized his circle extended beyond Rachel and Patrick, it extended to Jason and Johnny and Abraham as well. Even if his mother forced him to church, and even if his father quoted the entire Bible to his face, he'd still have these kids with him. Or, in many ways, he hoped. He didn't want to lose what little support he had from these people. 

  "Oh, Danny?" Jason always had the softer voice of the two, as though he didn't like speaking up, "I know it sounds... I guess really weird, that we're tellin' you what we overheard, but really. Your mama shouldn't make you go somewhere you ain't got any business being." 

  Daniel nodded. "I guess. Hey, since you two know, do you still...?"

  "Believe?" Johnny finished. He stopped to think, pursing his lips. "...Yeah, actually. Just a bit different. I think even if all there is at the end is nothin', we might as well take our chances in somethin'. Good comfort, y'know?"

  Daniel didn't, but he would pretend he did. He just nodded his head again, and the three made their way to Rachel's house, where they passed the afternoon playing baseball in her back yard, with Daniel being the most awful pitcher the town of Cain, Georgia, has ever seen. 

  Perhaps he didn't understand it now, as he was only a twelve year old, but their optimism was crucial. If not for him, then for others, and for others merely the power of belief was enough to change entire worlds, and to shift their own mountains aside.


	25. Violin

  "Happy birthday!"

  Patrick had pulled Daniel from the party, laughing as they rushed into the hall, the sounds of others talking in the next room their background noise. Daniel grinned at his friend, the warmth they radiated matching the warmth of the summer day outside. "Thanks, what's up?" He glanced around, unsure as to why Patrick needed him alone. The burgundy haired boy just smirked.

  "Well, I wanted to let you know to open my present last. It's the one in the green wrapping paper, the big one? That one. Last, when everyone else has left, okay?"

  "Okay? What about Rachel, though?"

  "Oh! She can stay, just everyone else, alright?" Patrick grabbed Daniel's hand, and he felt the warmth shoot past that from the outside. It was like the sun, burning their hands and fusing them together as Patrick led him back to his own party. The summer brought with it the breezy colors of the girl's dresses. Charlotte and Darlene, two of Rachel's friends, were dressed in nice summer dresses that were so pale that the dye must have been terrified of the fabric. Rachel, on the other hand, wore a denim shirt most definitely for an adult man, draped over her black t shirt. She always stood out, no matter where she went, but she fit in when she was with Daniel and Patrick and all their friends. Charlotte and Darlene she had met on a walk, and they had gotten to know each other, and while they were decidedly the most normal out of their ragtag group, they were sweet girls who enjoyed everyone else's company. 

  As Daniel opened presents and thanked everyone and talked with the other kids there, he couldn't help but sneak a few glances at the green package, sitting like the face of temptation. He knew Patrick wanted it opened last, but he wanted to know what it was now. 

  Either way, Johnny suggested they go outside, and all of the kids filed out the front door. Their voices were soon echoing off the houses, bouncing into the sky and between the leaves, the air in their lungs loud and the wind whistling in their ears as they ran. The world around them was theirs, all theirs. Abraham and Jason found a football, and the group began passing it back and forth between each of the children, running up and down the streets and through the yards and up and down the hill Daniel's house sat on. Every single one of them knew that this was their last summer as middle schoolers, and in September they would start the eighth grade, but that motivated them further. They wanted to savor it, to know that this was their last summer spent as middle schoolers was what spurred them on to laugh louder, to act bolder, to be better. Because in the end, they were all still kids, and they were ready to embrace the world.  
  


* * *

 

  Many of them left by seven, thanking Gideon and Sarah for hosting the party and Daniel for inviting them, and then walking home. Rachel and Patrick remained, Rachel leaning with her hands digging into her knees.

  "Come on, come on, damn it! I wanna know what it is!"

  "Rachel!" Daniel whined. The red head rolled her eyes.

  " _Dang it,_ sorry, what is it though? Seriously!" 

  "I'll show you when I open it," Daniel retorted, the two grinning at each other. He peeled off a strip of wrapping paper, then another, pulling out the process as long as he could to agonize both of his friends. Patrick's amber eyes were glowing with anticipation, and when Daniel finally had the box to the point he could open it, he stuck his arm inside and pulled it out, hand gripping the slender neck of a violin. He drew in a sharp gasp, cerulean eyes wide, staring at the instrument in his hand.

  "Oh- oh my gosh, Patrick," He exhaled, "You- oh my gosh," How had he known he wanted a violin? How much had the thing cost?! He stared at it with such amazement, he was like a small child seeing the world for the first time. Patrick lifted his shoulders, splaying his hands out.

  "Well, my mom and I talked, and I told her how much you like classical music and violins. And I told her how much you especially needed a hobby, I mean, come on! I see you moping around the neighborhood with nothing to do, it's pathetic," He laughed, jabbing Daniel with his elbow, "But seriously, I really thought you'd like it, so we uh, we got it for you! Oh, and for the next few months, mom wants to pay for lessons so you can learn to play it, so you can figure out of it's for you or not." 

  Daniel had been lowering the violin back into the box, and then setting it on the coffee table as Patrick spoke. Then, when his friend finished, he had been gaping at him, eyes wide, lips open.

  "...Uh," Patrick waved his hand in front of Daniel's face, "Danny? Hello? Earth to Danie-" 

  He was cut off by the force of Daniel flinging his arms around his neck, pulling him tight to himself, holding Patrick like he was his life raft. He clung to the burgundy haired boy, who slowly wrapped his arms around him. Rachel watched her two friends, chuckled, and leaned against Daniel. She wrapped her arms around the blond, and reached to Patrick. The three remained in their ball for a while, holding each other in silence, before Daniel slowly sat back away from his friend. Rachel pulled herself off of Daniel, and listened to Daniel stammer out 'thank you's to Patrick. He then reached to the box, and pulled out his instrument and the bow. Rachel stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  "Hey, I heard you can permanently fuck up your wrist if-"

  "Rachel!"

  " _Heck up your wrist,_ if you hold it wrong when you're playing. Maybe you oughta wait 'til you get lessons?" She suggested with a lean of the head and an arch of her brows. He waited, nodded, and set it away.

  "Alright," He looked at Patrick, then at Rachel. He slung one arm over Patrick's neck, another over Rachel's, and pulled them tight to him. Daniel had come to the conclusion years ago that these two were worth more than gold to him, and after all they had done for him - sneaking him out every Halloween, reading Harry Potter in secret with him - he knew that they were loyal souls, the people he truly could trust. Patrick had listened to him when he made an absent comment about violins, and Rachel was always his shoulder to lean on when he didn't know who to go to. The three of them were bound tighter than blood could bring any family together, they were all bound by souls and by hearts and by fate. Fate, ensnaring their destinies in each other's paths. 

  It was only a matter of time until the world turned cold for them, but they had this moment right now. It was a warm August night, and they were happy, and that was all that mattered now.


	26. Bonding Time

  Daniel had never been fishing before. It was a rite of passage in the town of Cain; every young boy goes fishing with his daddy and brings back the catch of the town, which is paraded like a trophy before it’s gutted and fried up for dinner.

  Such was the south. 

  Daniel, however, had not embarked on this rite of passage. He had always declined his father’s requests to go out and fish and hunt and do all the things fathers in Georgia did with their sons. For a while, Daniel’s father had speculated that because his son had been denied the proper rites of youth, he might be gay.

  Such was his father.

  Which was why Daniel was more than ever determined to go on all of these youth rites with him.

  Gideon and Daniel had loaded up at half past five, Daniel climbing in the passenger seat and twiddling his thumbs for a moment. His father got into the car, shutting the door and gripping the steering wheel. He stretched his neck, leaning it to the left- _CRACK!_ Then the right- _CRACK!_ Then rotating it forward. He looked at his son.

  “Ready?”

  Daniel nodded. He buckled his seat belt and the two pulled out of the driveway. Gideon wouldn’t show it, but he was gleeful for one of the first times in a long time. He had not been on a trip with his son, just father-son bonding, in quite some time. Not since Daniel was a kid. He still was a kid, barely thirteen, but all the same.

  When they arrived to the town’s favorite fishing spot, a pond just in the outstretch of town where the sun didn’t hit their backs as hard because of the trees shading the dock, they stopped and Gideon unloaded. He pulled out one fishing rod for Daniel, one for himself, and took a swig from his flask. 

  “Alright, let me teach you how to fish, boy,” He stepped over to Daniel and the two made their way to the dock. Gideon speared a worm on his hook, then gave one to his son, who held it with mild disgust.

  “You have t’spear it and toss it in the water.”

  Daniel frowned. He didn’t exactly see the appeal of killing a worm to get a fish, but it was supposedly an equal - if not more profitable - trade-off. He speared the worm clumsily, and swallowed. When Gideon cast his line out, Daniel replicated his motions like a child; fumbling hands and weak throws. But he did get it out, and Gideon was proud for a moment.

  Time passed lazily between them, the air slipping across the pond in a smooth arc that brought up small breezes. Gideon cleared his throat after a while. 

  “Daniel, I notice you’ve been spending more time around the girls lately,”

  Daniel thought back to the times he’d spent with any girls whatsoever. Rachel and Darlene and Charlotte and Ronnie came up to his mind, but he had spent time with them only when he had been invited and only when Rachel was there, certainly. 

  “Yes?” He looked at Gideon.

  “So… is there any particular one you like?”

  Daniel flushed. Sure, he liked all of them, but probably not in the way his father was expecting. Rachel was his best friend, and Charlotte was pretty sweet, but he barely knew Darlene and Ronnie. 

  “Hm…” Daniel contemplated lying. He had lied about this before to everyone he knew. He had no love for any of the girls in Cain unless you count deep friendships or familial bonds, and he really didn’t know why. Maybe it was because he grew up with them. He had known all of them since they were kids, even if they hadn’t all been particularly close, running in different circles and chasing different thrills. He looked at his father; expectant, bothering for a response with those eyes that vaguely resembled mud and deep, red earth.

  “Mm… maybe.” Daniel shrugged. Gideon nodded sagely, like he was satiated. Daniel inwardly smiled. He had always been taught a father and son should have a special bond, and deep down he hoped he was building that bond. Building bridges was always his forte, burning them was more Rachel’s thing. 

  Sometimes, he swore she was the pyromaniac of relationships.

  “Well, if you ever love any of ‘em, don’t let their daddies catch you two foolin’ around. Don’t need my boy gettin’ killed with a shotgun.”

  His southern drawl came out more prominently when he was relaxed, like he was loosening his throat and unclenching his old ways. He looked at his son and his son looked up at him, and for a moment it was world peace.

* * *

 

  They came home with two meager fish, and Sarah Jolene greeted them warmly. She wrapped up her husband in her thin cream arms and kissed his warm cheek, then bent down and pat her son’s head and congratulated them. She and Gideon went out to the shed to clean and gut the fish, leaving Daniel to trudge up to the bathroom and clean up. 

  He washed his hands and his arms and changed in the bathroom, the image of a squirming worm in his mind being speared by a point. Did that worm, too, see the darkness when it died? Did it witness the infinite horizon of just inky and void black? He didn’t want to think about that. He never wanted to send something to that darkness.

  Showering and dressing himself, he came downstairs and stopped half-way down, hearing his mother’s voice from the dining room.

  “ _Gideon Everest,_ you cannot keep drinkin’ like that! It ain’t proper, and for heaven’s sakes put that damn flask away!” 

  She continued to scold her husband, who only grunted and presumably set his flask on the table.

  “Jolene darlin’, I’m doin’ just fine. I’ll stop when things calm down at the firm.”

  The compromise seemed to satisfy his mother, who didn’t say another word. She just set the table while Gideon fried the fish, and Daniel came downstairs.  
  


  Dinner was filled with an awkward sort of conversation found in all feuding families. Forced conversation with tin-canned laughter and then choppy silence.


	27. Pact

  His violin lessons started up at the same time as school, on Thursday nights so as not to interfere with Wednesday church service. He had tried to get the lessons scheduled for Wednesday, but his mother wasn't having any of this. She told him how important it was, especially now, to go to church. Sarah saw this as keeping her son in line. Daniel saw this as keeping up appearances. After all, ruining her own reputation was far down on her to do list.

  Daniel sat quietly with his parents in the pews, listening to Brother White preach with conviction in his voice, which rose and fell like the sails of a ship in a windstorm. Summer was closing like a box all around them, and the school year would capture all of the children of Cain in it's claws and pull them down into their futures.

  "Now, I want to ask you a very simple question, friends," Brother White lowered his voice, "Are you satisfied with leading a life like the rest of the world wants? Are you satisfied with living just comfortable, never moving from your place? No, of course not!" He answered the question for them, not giving anyone a chance, as usual. "We all want to be spectacular, and through our Lord and Savior, we can! We can achieve all we want to achieve through God's glory, all you gotta do is believe."

  Daniel looked through the various people in other pews, the way they all stared up at the preacher with admiration, but he caught a glimpse of pale blond in the front row, shifting in the pew like it was on fire. Abraham. The preacher's son nervous in the sermon, which nobody but Daniel seemed to be catching onto. He watched the boy, but wouldn't say anything. Whatever burdened his soul was his own to shoulder, not Daniel's problem.

  
   In some ways, however, he wanted to make it his problem. Abraham was his friend, the only person who'd stood up to Brother White for forcing him into baptism, and even when the attempt proved futile he still tried. Daniel would never forget how he had really tried. He owed him, he figured, because if it came down to it, he would do the same thing for him.

  As the closing hymnals echoed out, and the congregation dispersed and chattered amongst themselves, Daniel caught a look in his father's eyes as he looked at Brother White, who only flashed a smile. He knew his father and Brother White had not been close as children and most certainly were not close now, but the looks they exchanged was the biggest indicator. And, of course, Brother White was determined to make an example out of the Hubbard family. After all, an alcoholic father, a sacrilegious son, and a wife who was nothing meek or humble, it made them perfect targets for sermons on family. And even if Brother White never directly stated who he was tailoring his sermons specifically to, and knew many would find their own meanings in them, there were times where he might as well have shouted out their names and screamed about the gossip he overheard.

  For now, passing glances seemed to do the trick in running Gideon's blood cold as he moved out into the night air.

  Rachel caught up with Daniel, gripping his arm. "Hey," She looked at him, then at his father and mother, who had ushered themselves out. Rachel had begun straightening her hair, the red curls now just flowing trails of fire.

  "You look weird, what's up?"

  That was Rachel's way of showing concern, the way she made it seem like a joke until it wasn't, until no one was laughing and the punchline was a punch to the gut. Daniel shook his head. "Nothing. And me? Weird? Come on, you look ridiculous." He jabbed her playfully with his elbow, and she laughed and grabbed his hand.

  "I think I look gorgeous."

  "Well, that's a matter of opinion." He jested, and they both laughed. Rachel tucked a strand behind her ear, and then waved Patrick and Abraham over. The boys rushed up to meet with them, but Abraham faltered, hesitated. His father was watching him. His father was a hawk, gazing down at his son, a mouse to be devoured. Survival of the fittest.

  "Did you need somethin'?" Patrick cocked his head. Rachel placed her hands on her hips.

  "Come on, we're all in the eighth grade. We're gonna be teenagers- well, some of us already are," She looked at Daniel, as did everyone, and they all gave a small chuckle, "Anyways, I don't know, I think we all need to spend more time together. I heard high school is when people lose touch and I don't wanna lose touch, you guys are my pals."

  Her words were slamming around inside everyone's heads. No matter how much Rachel liked to act as though she was the toughest of them all, like she had everything under control, she still made sure that her friends knew one way or another how much she loved them. She looked between all of their faces, and Abraham was the first to speak.

  "I'd like to keep in touch," He agreed, "It helps we all live pretty close, but I mean... You know. I just don't like the thought of losing you guys."

  "Yeah," Patrick glanced around, "Me neither, y'all are kind of the only things I go to school for."

  A low rumble of laughter, before Daniel stepped back, "I gotta go, but I'll see you guys later."

  They all departed and said goodbye, and Daniel walked away from the church, and he felt lighter somehow. Maybe these next five years wouldn't be as awful as he anticipated. He was already counting down the days until he was in college and able to leave this town, because after the incident and people naming him Lazarus and then turning around and calling him sacrilegious, he knew somewhere in the pit of his heart that if he didn't leave soon, this wicked little town would swallow him whole. Maybe his friends would throw him a rope to hang onto. One could only hope.


	28. Elm Trees and Taffy

  Veronica Willcox had given up on trying to force her daughter to be anything. Rachel Willcox was grateful. She and her mother had made the pact that if she just obeyed basic ground rules, so long as she consulted her mother or her father, then she could make her own decisions. This was too much power for a twelve year old (said other mothers of their town), but Rachel was responsible, and she'd proven it time and time again. 

  So in the month of September, Rachel dyed her hair a dark purple-black, and started to preach the gospel of self-expression. 

  She had been straightening her hair for a month now, and decided that dyeing it was another step in branching away from her upbringing. She was wicked and wild in the eyes of Cain, and she loved it. She wasn't going to take their lectures lying down, she was going to fight for what she wanted to be. She saw in magazine clippings in the old scrapbooks of her mother's the punk new wave looks of the eighties, and she was doing anything to imitate it. She was discovering herself, even when Darlene and Charlotte and Ronnie all begged her to stop, tried to slam the brakes. She just kept speeding on, on, into the sun. 

  She had pulled Daniel along to the groves of trees that lined parts of town and receded into more woods, more dark, more shade. They had been chasing each other around like they were bounding out of hell and towards oblivion on a Saturday afternoon, and the gold of the sun shone in their eyes. Every inch of grass was gilded, every inch of light was splayed around their laughter and bubbling forward in the haze of their youth. Rachel pulled Daniel along, the blond following her eagerly, and they sat in the shade of a large elm tree, with Rachel's hands on her knees as she leaned forward.

  "So, did you bring the stuff?" She was beaming at Daniel, who reached into his pocket and pulled out grape taffy, practically tossing it at her.

  "Yeah, why do you even like that flavor? Grape candy is gross," He scrunched up his nose for emphasis, to which Rachel rolled her eyes, ripping the wrappers apart and popping the candy into her mouth.

  "Dude," She said around a mouthful of taffy, "I love grape. The only way my mom can get me to take medicine is if it's grape flavor. Heck, you could hide anything in grape flavor and I'd down it." 

  "Good to know," He frowned. He'd always found grape to be too sweet, sickeningly so, and had found he much preferred cherry. Rachel shrugged and punched Daniel's shoulder lightly, grinning at him.

  "Come on, Danny boy, don't be so sour. We've got a whole year until we're in high school, I wanna remember it fondly." He looked at her as she spoke, and the way sunshine hit her and the way the shade kept her in it's depths, swallowed up in the leaves and branches and the cool of the noon. They remained quiet for a while, Rachel averting her eyes for a while, before a grin spread across her face. "Hey, Danny, since we're gonna be high schoolers, we gotta start talking like them. Otherwise we'll get no respect!" 

  "What do you mean?" He arched his brow, pressing his hands into the grass, leaning back on them. Rachel pulled him up, and as the blond stumbled forward and into her arms, he could hear her boisterous laughter. He lurched into her arms, then staggered back, Rachel's hands clasping his as tight as vices. She had a gleam in her eye like she were the embodiment of their childish mischief, that same gleam that had gotten them in trouble for years, the same gleam he loved. 

  "I mean, Danny, you haven't said a single damn 'bad word'," she made air quotes with her fingers, then quickly latched them between Daniel's, "and frankly, you're not gonna survive with a pristine act like that. So come on, say 'ass'! Say it!" Her enthusiasm towards the idea of her best friend cussing was almost admirable. She was cheering him on, chanting "say it, say it," over and over like a broken record. Daniel's cheeks flushed and he shook his head, glancing around swiftly to be sure no one was overhearing them.

  "Rachel, cussing doesn't make us more like high school students." He frowned. Rachel was now swinging their arms wildly in arcs, making arches, now twirling them in the shade of the elm, her dark hair tossed about and her smile ear-to-ear and brighter than any sun that had ever bloomed over their town. As she chanted, she'd give up on one word and opt for a more obscene one, each more profane than the one before it, some of which had Daniel clasping his hands over his mouth to suppress an amused giggle. Then his hands would be pulled down and back to hers, and they would repeat the process over and over, and finally Daniel cracked. In his smallest mutter, he let "Fuck," slip from his mouth, and laughed. His parents had always told him that he shouldn't curse - but they were hypocrites, not caring what words they said around their son - and Rachel was gleeful. Finally. Daniel was letting go. She cheered and pulled Daniel down into the grass, the two collapsing in front of each other, bubbling with laughter like they were small children again.

  "If momma found out-"

  "She won't find out, you goof. She doesn't have telepathy or whatever, you're good, chill out." 

  He decided her words were wiser than the thoughts burning his feet. He laid on his back in the grass, the September air warm around them, the ground hot all except for beneath the tree, where they found their rest. Rachel sat up after a while, pursing her lips, sucking on her inner cheek and pressing it between her teeth for a second.

  "Hey, if I tell you something, you're not gonna go blabbing to everyone else, right?"

  "Of course not," Daniel sat up now, knitting his brow, leaning his head to the side - Rachel flinched at the cracking sound - and staring at her. "What's up?"

  "I'm uh," She scratched the back of her neck, averting her gaze momentarily, "I'm _scared,_ Danny. We're not gonna be little kids forever, hell, we're teenagers now. I'm scared we're gonna all break apart, lose each other, lose touch with everyone we love. Not to mention, adulthood sounds terrifying, and I don't like the idea of having to decide what to do with my life right out of high school." She kept staring at the grass, picking handfuls of it between her fingers and tossing them out, keeping occupied to calm her nerves. "I don't wanna grow up, but it's only five years until we're applying to college and working and being completely different people, and I don't like the idea of all of us - you, me, Patrick, the Taylor boys, even Abraham - all just- I don't know, growing apart? We're gonna be older, and we're all going to find different things and I hate that one day we're not gonna be the same. We may not even be friends in the future, and that's- shit, that's _terrifying._ " 

  Her voice was higher than Daniel was used to hearing it, a small, mousey voice that she never let slip in front of anyone. She pulled her knees to her chest, black jeans pressing into her t shirt, her arms around them as she dipped her chin in between her knees. Rachel looked like she wanted to become a ball, a stone, hidden in the grass to be carried off and skipped across a lake. Daniel was speechless at her confession, as he had always seen her as the strong one, the independent one, the person who didn't need anybody else or their approval. Slowly, he inched closer, and sat beside her with their shoulders brushing, looking at the girl he had grown up alongside since he could remember.

  "I don't want to grow up, either," He said, worrying at his lip, "Maybe that's why I get embarrassed when you try to get me to cuss. It's like I'm holding onto that shred of being a kid. I don't want to go to high school, I don't even want to be thirteen. I wanna be eleven or ten, any time before-" He inhaled sharply, gesturing at the trees and the bits of their town they could see, at the world around them that was their little snow globe. "I don't know, before _this,_ before people called me Lazarus and before I saw nothingness and before- gosh, maybe even before I turned eight. I just wanna be a little kid without anything to look forward to but what he's going to do tomorrow with his best friends."

  They were quiet, both of them, for a long time. Their shoulders slouched and their eyes kept everywhere but at each other's, to avoid knowing what the other was thinking, until Rachel finally let a goofy grin fall over her features. "Am I included in the best friend category?"

  "Of course you are, gosh," He lightly and playfully punched her shoulder, her laugh coming out like a button had been pressed. They met eyes again, and they knew that no matter what, they were not alone. Their fears were shared, parts of themselves laid bare. 

  "Just so you know, if you tell anyone what I just said, I'll kill you," Rachel threatened, but then her threat turned to giggles, and Daniel nodded with a smirk plastered to his face.

  "Sure, Rachel, sure." He rolled his eyes, and after some time, the two rose. They had to head home soon, the streetlamps on some parts of town flickering to life. They took each other's hands, and they breathed in the September air. Rachel didn't move for a moment, as the breeze picked up and lowered, and then trickled out through the murmuring leaves.

  "Daniel? Everything's gonna be okay." She smiled at him like she meant it, like she knew it, everything in her screaming that this was the last confession she'd have to make. She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, and together they descended to town and to the world they knew, like astronauts returning from space. 

* * *

  
  They walked home in a citrine haze, the air around them thick with the smell of blooming gardens which perfumed the way, the sidewalks gleaming white and pale lemon in the fading noon. Daniel and Rachel walked hand-in-hand, and if one thing in this town was certain it was that they were sparks. The parents of the town and all the young girls would look at them and say to themselves how they would be married one day, their eyes locking and their hands together tight on the altar. 

  But those people would be wrong, for there was nothing romantic in the sly gazes they gave each other, no matter how much Daniel wished there could be. 

  “Wanna go to the lake?”

  Rachel suggested it to break the silence. End the quiet distance. Daniel looked to her and ruffled his brow, thin lines appearing on his youthful face.

  “What for? We gotta be home for dinner soon,”

  “I know,” Rachel laughed, “The lake’s more fun, though.”

  Daniel hesitated. “I think I should be getting home, really, my dad’s…” He bit his tongue.

  “Understood.”

  Rachel was one of the only ones in this hell town that knew; that could see through the walls that family put up around themselves. Gideon Everest had been drinking a lot. More than he had when Daniel had awoken from his Near Death Experience. It started before, actually. But the near loss of his only son was enough to act as his catalyst.

  “See you tomorrow?” Rachel stood on the porch with Daniel, who was leaning to the door. He didn’t want to pry it open and creep inside and see his mother cooking and his father nursing a hangover. But he couldn’t stay with Rachel, and Patrick was out of town. 

  “Alright,” He agreed, and he opened the door with the slow creak and clack that doorknobs make. 

  He entered his house, took a breath, and shut the door.

  For the first time in a while, Rachel prayed.


	29. Most Wanted

  Abraham was a normal kid, as far as anyone else was concerned. The one thing that set him apart, the singular detail that everyone latched onto, was who his father is, the preacher that taught fire and brimstone and love and acceptance in the same breath. He never exactly followed those sermons. But nobody objected to that. He was living his life. Abraham, on the other hand, was constantly balancing on the tightrope his father strung up for him, the strangling feeling of being the preacher's son and expected to be just as good as his father.

  Expectations were weighed and hefty and held on his shoulders, but as he slowly plucked two jacks from his pocket and rested them on his desk, he was sure that he was fine. Handling it was all he did, after all. He twirled one of the metal spiked game pieces, pinching it between his fingers, letting it slowly rotate back and forth. After a moment, he picked the piece up and lightly tapped Daniel's shoulder with the spiked end.

  "Hey," He mumbled. Daniel turned around, one arm lazily resting against the back of his chair. 

  "Hey," He replied, quiet as well. Abraham darted his eyes from left to right, then lowered his voice further.

  "Do you think we'll be cool when we're in high school?"

  "Ha, hardly," Daniel snorted. Abraham quietly tittered, shaking his head.

  "Yeah, I guess you're right."

  "Come on, Abey, you know I'm on the _'Church's Most Wanted'_ list as far as these kids are concerned." Daniel folded his other arm over the back of the chair, turning completely, pressing his legs down the sides of his seat. 

  "Aw, don't say that, I think you're fantastic."

  "You're not your father." Daniel rolled his eyes. He meant the jab to be light-hearted, but Abraham averted his gaze, casting his stare to the tile floors. He frowned, worrying at his lip.

  "Yeah, guess I'm not."

  Abraham fidgeted nervously with the jack, and let it slide between his fingers and down onto his desk. Habit. He had a habit of playing with them since childhood when he was nervous. They were his tools to calm down, his way to keep himself together. His short, stubbed nails barely pressed far enough from his fingertips to graze the surface, his focus entirely on the metal jack before him. He then heaved a small sigh, leaned back, and looked at Daniel squarely. 

  "Where are we going?"

  Daniel was thrown off by the question. Wrinkling up his brow, he leaned his head to the side with a small pop. "What?"

  "I mean, y'know. After this, after we're done with school. I expect college, but I know that isn't for everyone." Abraham shrugged his shoulders, one rose lip pressed between his teeth, straight and white like marble slabs. He had a look to him that could only be described as a stone angel, the kind of look that kept him out of trouble, even more so than his anxieties about doing something wrong. 

  "I'm going to college, I don't know where or for what, but if I don't, my parents might kill me." Daniel laughed off his own comment, but an underlying fear traced his words, the fear that it would not be death but disdain that awaited him should he choose an alternate route to his life than the one his parents picked for him.

  "Same here. Hey, do you think Rachel's gonna be okay? She's been doing a lot of weird things lately."

  Daniel laughed, pressing his face into his arms for a moment. "Abey, she's _Rachel._ She's being herself, don't worry. I'll let you know if something seriously wrong happens, like she shows up to school looking like Charlotte." 

  Abraham giggled at this, his little laugh high and quiet. Charlotte was known for her overuse of the colors teal and pink, modeling herself after only the most delicately poised models. Rachel was the polar opposite, and loved herself that way, and nobody could object to the fact that she was happy. 

  "You're right, guess I'm just being silly." Abraham replied, and the two went back to their homework for a time. "Hey," Abraham piped up, after a long period of silence between them, "For the record, you're not on my most wanted list. What I mean to say is, you're my friend, and regardless of whatever you saw, I care about you." 

  Daniel swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. "Thanks." He choked on the word, before he returned to his reading, and he hoped dearly that the bell would ring, bring him home. He didn't know how to respond, and he wasn't sure Abraham even expected him to respond at all. He felt the other's eyes leave him, and relaxed his shoulders. He hoped Abraham meant it. After all, he was a good friend, and he was nicer than most of the people in town. Maybe his father would spare him some mercy for being friends with Daniel, maybe Brother White would not, but who was to say. All Daniel knew was that he had a small circle of people who truly did want to be there for him, and that was good enough. 

* * *

  
  "Danny, hey, wait up," 

  Abraham tracked him down at the end of the day, crowds of other kids their age shoving and rushing to the buses or their waiting parents. Daniel's mother was going to be a bit late today, and Abraham was staying behind to help a teacher hang up decorations in their room. He slipped his hand over Daniel's shoulder, the other stopping in place, lip grasped between his teeth.

  "Yeah?"

  "I wanted to ask you something, if that's alright." 

  Daniel watched Abraham, the way his voice softened as the forthcoming question bloomed on the tip of his tongue, the way his hazel-green eyes were directed more through Daniel and to the ground than at him. Even with the noise around them, it felt all silent in their space, like a bubble had formed to keep them alone. 

  "What is it?" Daniel's breaths felt tired, heavy, he was sick of questions. He hated them, not having answers and not having the right solution and being tangled in every variable to every situation. Even from his close friends, even from Abraham, questions felt exhausting.

  "If you don't believe in God, why do you still come to church?" 

  Daniel furrowed his brow. Then he scoffed, "My parents force me," he folded his arms over his chest, looking at the preacher's son who he had seen recently squirming in the pew, like the entire thing was on fire. "What about you? You didn't look too happy with your father's sermon recently."

  The tips of Abraham's ears went pink, and he cleared his tight throat. "I don't know, Danny. I just don't feel... Right? I mean, I still believe and everything, but my father- well, sometimes he comes across as a little... Militant? Like his usage of religion - his use of God - is more like wielding a _power_ over people than really being their shepherd. _Gosh,_ that sounds weird, but-"

  "No, it doesn't, it's kinda how I see it, too."

  The two stared at their shuffling feet for a while, before Abraham coughed into his elbow. "I gotta go, but nice talking to you, Danny. Hope your violin lessons are going well," he turned on his heel and departed, his footsteps fading off down the now-silent hall. Daniel watched him go, the way he seemed to fade out of a scene like a character in a movie, the film going to another reel, the world unreal. Daniel gripped the strap of his backpack tighter, the burgundy fabric slung over his thin frame. He had always admired Abraham. He was a good kid, with a bigger heart than his chest could contain, like it would one day jump out and become it's own entity, leaving the boy behind. He turned and started down the hall and to the doors, with his hand keeping a tight hold on his backpack strap. His mother would be picking him up soon, and he would go home to his father and their dinner and then hopefully a quiet night. His father, a paralegal, had a case to help organize and was often busy in his study, leaving silent evenings - a wonderful thing - for he and his mother. He pushed open the doors with one solid yet frail hand, and decided that he was okay for now, things were okay for now. Normal, even.   
  



	30. Hold Back the River

  It was well past midnight when there was the tap of a pebble on the window of Daniel's room. Daniel groaned in his sleep, rolling over, blankets pulled tight over himself. Another peck at the window by a pebble. He scrunched up his face, rousing, keeping his eyes shut tight. Maybe if he ignored it...

  Another, much louder thud against the glass, and Daniel bolted upright. _Damn it, whoever was out there-_

  He stomped to the window as quietly as he could and shoved it open, peering down at the grass and trees below.

  Patrick tossed a rock up and down in his palm, beaming up at Daniel and making a motion with his arm, a swooping gesture to indicate he wanted Daniel down with him. Daniel furrowed his brow, pressing his palms into the windowsill.

 "It's late," he mumbled. Patrick laughed.

  "I don't care, come down!" He called up. Daniel motioned for him to be quiet, placing his index finger to his lips. He was noiseless, looking down at him, then motioning for him to wait. He slipped away from the window and shut it tight, changed into some decent clothes, and tip toed down the stairs. He grasped at the doorknob, twisting it slow, then slid out without a sound. He let the door shut as silent as breath, and jogged his way over to Patrick.

  "Did you sneak out?"

  "You bet I did."

  "But Patrick, we have school tomorrow-"

  "I don't care," He gave a lopsided grin and pressed his hands to his hips, chest puffed out with some sort of youthful bravado at having pulled this off. "I wanted to see you, and I couldn't sleep, so I came rushing out and got you to wake up." 

  Even as he explained, Daniel yawned, clasping one hand lightly over his mouth. "Okay," He mumbled, "But I'm _exhausted,_ Patrick." 

  "Come on, don't you think it's exciting? We're out here in the middle of the night, absolutely no one else around. We can do whatever we want!" 

  Whatever they want, it rang like a gun in his ears. It rang like an ache in the chest, a hole in the head, and he knew what he wanted to do but was so scared, so petrified of doing. He swallowed thickly and trudged down the hill, down to the sidewalk and stood in the streetlamp. Bright orange lit up his blond hair like a halo, his high cheekbones painted in neon as he looked up, watching Patrick scurry his way down to the sidewalk as well. The burgundy haired boy kept the absolutely massive grin on his lips as he made the march down the sidewalk, beckoning Daniel to follow.

  "So Danny, you liking eighth grade so far?"

  Daniel nodded, and kept glancing at the houses, all the lights out. It was so strange to see it so quiet around here. "Yeah. You?"

  "It's exhausting." Patrick chuckled, and Daniel gave a tiny, breathy laugh as well. 

  "I think it's going to be fine. Think about it, this year and then four more years until we're out of here." 

  Out of here, out of Cain, out of Georgia entirely if Daniel played his cards right. He could only imagine life outside of this place, not littered with the memories of his childhood and his family and streets unfamiliar and sleeping homes he had not passed two hundred times a month, and he almost felt the sweeping of relief. But he also would miss it, a bittersweet departure. The same streets that had carried his laughter would just be a memory one day in the rear view mirror of a car, driven out of the town he knew too well.

  "Do you know where you're going?"

  "Nah, I've still gotta figure it out." Patrick shrugged. "We got time though, no big deal." 

  They kept walking in the quiet, making little jokes and nudging each other, and now they couldn't stop the nervous giggles that came between them. They were alone in the dark street and no one knew they were not tucked neatly into their beds. Patrick picked up his pace, turning to look at Daniel.

  "Follow me, golden boy," He rushed down the sidewalk, and Daniel followed after him, chasing him in the deep dark. They rushed through streets and through trees and to a hill that led down, down into a creek. The moon was so bright they could see each other's silver faces, the water mirroring the billions of stars above. Patrick cupped a handful of water and splashed it at Daniel, who held an arm up as though to block it.

  "Patrick!"

  "Come on, it's gonna be fall, soon. We gotta enjoy the warm while we can!" He was now ankle deep in the creek, and Daniel hopped in, splashing them both. They couldn't contain their laughter, letting it echo into the night, chasing each other up and down the little stream and pulling the water up like a blanket to coat each other, soaking their hair and their clothes and sending the world into a silver haven in the dark, wonderful and gleeful and free. Patrick grabbed Daniel by the waist, wrapping arms around him and lifting him up, then bringing him down into the water, which at it's deepest was almost knee-length. Daniel accepted this baptism, the only one he would accept, and pulled Patrick down with him.

  They crawled out of the creek a while later, soaked and laughing, lungs burning. They leaned their weary spines against a tree, wringing out their shirts.

  "Momma's gonna be pissed,"

  "Forget her, we had fun." Patrick beamed, holding onto Daniel's hand, grasping it tight. "We should do this again someday, y'know? It's nice to get out and enjoy the night with someone."

  "Is this the first time you've snuck out?"

  Patrick wavered. "I've crawled out the window and walked around my yard, so no, but this is much farther than I usually go."

  Daniel rose up, taking in a few deep breaths. "Let's go home, I need to clean up before dad wakes up."

  His friend agreed, and the two trudged back to their town, back to the houses and glittering streetlights, and as they gripped each other's hands Daniel felt himself drown, like he had become part of that creek, it's god.

  Because now it held that memory, it held them, fragments of the boys they would never be again.

  And fragments of the happiness that, in coming years, would be in short supply.


	31. Transcendental Youth

  Eighth grade was reveled with some vague mundanity. Time was like thick jelly as they slipped from day to day and into the new year, unfolding in Rachel's living room. Johnny and Jason lay on the couches, an arm or leg swinging off the edge, sweaters tossed down the back of each couch they occupied. Abraham had taken the corner, intersection between the Taylor boys, spine sliding neatly into the crevice. Patrick and Rachel and Daniel crowded around on the round rug, the television down low, all of them conversing in the comfort of each other's company. 

  "So I was thinking," Rachel looked at all her closest friends, her mouth twisted up in a big grin, "If we all started a band, we could take the high school by storm."

  Patrick snorted, scrunched up nose and big smile on his mouth, "Danny's the only one who can play an instrument, Rachel. Besides, if you wanna do music so much, why don't you audition for freshman choir?"

  "'Cause I don't think they'll appreciate my folk punk vibe. I'm a Mountain Goats and Violent Femme's kinda gal, they're more... Mary Had a Little Lamb." 

  "More like _Silence of the Lambs_ , those seniors are _cannibals,_ " Abraham shuddered, "A guy from the football team took one look at me and I thought he was going to murder me."

  "You're just a bit anxious, Abey," Jason chuckled, reaching his hand to Abraham's shoulder, rubbing it lightly. Abraham clasped his palm over Jason's knuckles, looking at him and sighing.

  "Maybe you're right, but those senior girls scare me, too." Johnny looked at his brother, his lopsided smile a sharp and knife-edged expression. "They've got siren's voices and they're tall enough to break a man in half." 

  "You're just short," Rachel quipped. Johnny bolted up, frowning.

  "Who you callin' short?" He retorted. In an instant, he had rushed over, swept in like a hawk, and gripped Rachel by her waist, arms folded over her midsection. He hoisted her up, back against his chest, her skinny legs kicking in every direction as she laugh-screamed and pounded his arms with her fists.

  "Let me go, _Johnathan!_ " 

  "Not 'til you apologize," He hummed, his lopsided smile wider now, stretching in angles out from the center of his face. Daniel watched as Rachel flailed and laughed and hollered. Her mother came rushing down the stairs to the commotion, her hands on her hips.

  "What on earth is going on here?" Veronica stood, curls tied back, her eyes cool, lemonade sweet even as she cocked her head to the side. Johnny set Rachel down on the ground, the girl brushing her purple-black strands out of her face, cheeks flushed with her amusement.

  "Nothin', mom," She managed through giggles, hiccuping bursts of noise from her throat. Veronica looked at the other kids in her living room, a congregation of Cain's outcasts, and sighed. She loved them all, dearly and deeply, but they were all a mess of excitement and anticipation of the upcoming school year. She stepped back upstairs slowly, casting one last glance at her daughter and her friends, before ascending up to her room. 

  "So Danny," Rachel plopped down onto the rug again, palms pressing into the braided material, long lines winding into patterns into colors into a twisting coil. "What're you signing up for next year?"

  Daniel shrugged, "I kind of want to just focus on my academics. Maybe I'll join a club, who knows." 

  "I'm trying out for the baseball team, if you'd like to join me," Johnny offered with acid undertone. Daniel had always sucked at baseball. 

  "No thanks." He shook his head, and Patrick looked at him for a moment, then to Jason, who was twirling his necklace in rotations above his chest, watching the shard of amber go up and under and the string wrap around his fingers.

  "Jason, what about you?"

  "Swimming," Jason replied in a dreamy voice, like he was hypnotized by his necklace. "Or track. Or both. Abraham?"

  "Fellowship of Christian Students." Abraham mumbled sheepishly. "Father is making me join." 

  "Ah." Rachel uttered. Everyone nodded in a shared understanding. Abraham loved his faith, loved his God, but he wanted to keep that faith a close personal thing until he became a minister. Then he'd be able to shout it from the rooftops with others of his particular faith, but not at anyone who didn't want it. 

  Rachel then stood, staggering over to a stereo - her foot had fallen asleep, and was taking time to get back to normal - and plucking a CD from the wicker bookshelf. She placed the disc in and shut it, turning up the volume. She had made the mixtape herself, and the first thing that touched everyone's ears was a guitar, strumming, then the Violent Femme's song that Rachel had been obsessed with for weeks. Abraham bit his lip, pulling out a jack from his pocket and twirling it absently between pinched fingers. 

  "Come on," Rachel's hands were on her hips, her black t shirt tucked into her several-sizes-too-big faded jeans, a black studded belt holding them up and tight to her waistline. "Let's move around, let's stop lying around and moping! We're almost out of middle school, we've got our entire lives ahead of us, we're gonna be _great_ someday."

  "How do you know that?" Johnny piped up. Rachel scowled.

  "'Cause I know my best friends, and they're all _champions_ , even if they're so damn pessimistic they don't think they are." 

  Johnny grinned, pushing himself up off the couch. "Fine, Rachel, you win," he moved over to her and extended his palms. She grabbed them tight, tighter than necessary as judged by his flinch, and she pulled him to dance with her. Patrick rose up and shifted a bit oddly, before taking up Johnny's seat on the couch. 

  Abraham looked at Daniel, who just shrugged, and the two rose and moved together, in awkward dances that turned into laughter and twirling and complex but silly movements of hands and legs. Jason preferred to lay on the couch, watching his friends and his brother, a smile on his lips as he sighed in a dreamy manner, always in a daydream, always in the middle of his mind. He pulled the throw pillow under his head a bit tighter, hugging it to himself. 

  For a moment, for that magical moment, they really believed it was true. They were champions, they would be great one day, and one day they'd leave this town burning behind them as they set the universe on fire. They'd be kings and queens and they'd be infinite and beyond. They would reach the sun and scrape it clean of light, pour it into their throats and become brighter than any supernova ever constructed by time. 

  They could believe it right now. They _would_ believe it right now.

  Sometimes, though, belief is not enough.


	32. Seeker

  Belief was fragile glass or hardened rock, depending on the person. There are a million explanations as to how and why someone's beliefs or faith comes about. Daniel sat quietly in the pews of the Iron Chapel Baptist Church while Brother White sermonized, with only feigned interest in the man's words as they spilled over. The hymnals that drifted off his lips were like wayward ghosts, unsure of their own direction, knowing nothing. 

_'All the way my Savior leads me;_

_What have I to ask beside?_

_Can I doubt His tender mercy,_

_Who through life has been my Guide?'_

  The hymn was one that Daniel had known well. A song his mother sang with him while they sat in their back yard, a white and yellow picnic blanket spread out beneath them, all of these memories over-saturated and overexposed like polaroids. The dreamy haze to it all was enough to tighten his throat. To idealize the days he had lived when he was younger, even though he knew what was rushing like a spring beneath the surface. But still the memory remained, her delicate hands intertwining with his pudgy four-year-old fingers and twirling him, their voices mingled and babbling brooks in shady woods, the way the melody soared in their chests. The image of her hair, shorter then, curled down to her collarbone and resting above the sweetheart neckline of her dress.

  It was the most vague memory, hazy instances and snapshots of what had been, the hymn fading out from his tongue as they all rose from the pews. Service had ended, and they all departed. 

  The car door shut and Daniel buckled himself up, staring out at the orange streetlamps of their town that lit the way home. They drove in silence, the radio the only thing he could hear aside from the car's engine, the warm of the heater sparking to life and bringing color to his cheeks. He watched out the window as little houses danced by in the dark, trees and plants obscuring their features, turning once-detailed decor into nothing but blemishes and shapes in the foliage. He could remember the days he spent in the back seat listening to his parents argue, but the time had passed for argument. They were just tired. 

  They ate dinner and cracked jokes. A couple of laughs were had about Brother White's tie - it looked a few decades old and a bit exhausted on him - and the way that Brother White, at moments, forgot where his train of thought had been going. Sermons were usually well-executed and thought out, but tonight had been hilariously unplanned, and so it was all improvisation. Which made for quite the show for the family that Brother White tended to target, indirectly of course, so as not to ruin his reputation, but target nonetheless. 

  After dinner, when all was put away and everyone had retreated to their own places of being, Daniel made his way to his room with his mind buzzing. The sermon had been on belief, on how one came about it. How one found themself in God, and how God was the truest god. And Daniel wondered then, how that could be the only truth. Were there not other faiths out there? Weren't there many different systems of believing out there? He knew the names of a few. He knew about paganism, not just from reading, but from a discussion one Halloween with Patrick. He had been talking about how his mother would not let them celebrate Halloween, and Patrick had told him what he had heard from Rachel's mother, that Halloween was originally Samhain, and how it had been a Celtic pagan holiday. This bit of information had clung to Daniel, and he had clung to it. This information may have been useless trivia to someone else, but to him, it represented options. Another way. 

  It was all he needed. He latched onto it and he clutched it in his mind. The idea that yes, _yes,_ there were other ways out there. Ways to stop the confusion and the dread that haunted him every moment alone. The horror at the void he had seen, oblivion obsidian and bleak. He could find something else, make it work. He knew very little about other religions, maybe a word or name in passing, the names of ancient gods studied in mythology and the names of beings from other countries, but very little. His family had made sure of that in restricting him so much, tightening the leash on his perception of the world.

  As he lay awake in bed he knew that this could be different. He would have to be cautious and he would need to be as sneaky as he could, a sly fox in his investigation, but he could do this. He needed to know how, but he would begin his search as soon as possible. He would be the seeker of knowledge in his quest, and he would not rest until he was satisfied.


	33. Library

  Caution was the only way to play this game. 

  Daniel told his mother he had a report on a historical figure due in his social studies class. He had her drop him off at the library and she said she'd pick him up in two hours.

  That gave him two hours to find their section on religious texts. He had two hours. Daniel stood at the glass doors to the public library with a sickening adrenaline in his blood, and from the moment he had been dropped off he had felt both trapped and freed. He had the choice to go inside and do what he was going to do, or he could go hide somewhere else in the library and pretend it never happened, he was never here. He had the choice, and it caught him in it's jaws.

  He opened the door to the library and a warmth flooded past him, winding into his hair and into the fabric of his sweater. January was slowly giving way to February, and the Valentine's Dance was coming up. He didn't care much about it. After all, he didn't have a date, no big deal. He glanced around the library, not many people occupying seats or tables or the desktops aligned in a long row. He walked up to the librarian's desk, the lump in his throat solidified, calcifying in his esophagus. He needed to ask where the section for references on religion would be, where would they be where would they-

  He couldn't. That woman goes to his church. He couldn't bear to talk to her, then have her repeat the question to Brother White and the question be repeated to his parents. He was on his own on this one. He decided to take it in stride; if he really wanted answers that bad, he'd be damn sure he got them. 

  Which led the rather small teenager to wander into the non-fiction section, clearly labeled and set against the very back of the library, quiet and discrete. He muttered to himself something about he might be safer there anyways, away from prying eyes so nobody could look and tell him what he was doing, or rather what he was defying. Perhaps defining would be a better word. He was defining his own path and defying the one laid out for him, after all. The only thing that Daniel knew, truly, was that he was not obeying the town's ways. He was going against it, brightly and rightly so, to seek out a truth that had been concealed from him. Or other forms of truth, for he couldn't be entirely sure what was true. He had seen nothingness when he had died and come back, and there was nothing he could do about this. 

  He moved quietly between the shelves, mentally discarding the numbers and the letters that showed which shelf housed what book. He was going to do this all by sight, and it may take a moment, but he would do it. Daniel peered down the spines of many of the old books, dusted from not being disturbed in so long, hooking his index finger over his chin. He examined the texts and wandered slowly from shelf to shelf, row to row, keeping track of where he had been. He was a cartographist of the public library, mapping it out in his head and where he could find what. 

  Out of the corner of his eye, as he crossed rows, he saw it. A Bible. An old one at that, dog-eared and tired. He knew that it had to be in the religious text and reference section, the Theology section, whatever it was classified as. He was careful not to make a mad dash for it, hoping that aside from books on Christianity he would find things on other religions, Islam, Judaism, anything else. 

  As he moved, he saw someone materialize next to him practically, with the silent way they made their approach.

  "Hey, Daniel, what're you doing here?" 

  He turned swiftly on his heel to see Rachel, a confused sort of semi-smile on her mouth. Daniel composed himself and smiled.

  "Nothing, just wandering. You?"

  "Gotta return this," she quirked her elbow in gesture of the book tucked neatly under her arm. He looked down at it, and saw it was a book on Ancient Romans. He nodded and pressed his balled fists to his hips.

  "Well, that looks neat."

  "It is, it's fuckin' brutal, too. Gladiators were on some next level-"

 _"Rachel,"_ He frowned, but it was all in good spirit. Rachel laughed. She stepped over and ruffled Daniel's blond hair, and then paused. She set the book on the shelf, her hands on her hips, and leaned her head just an inch to the side.

  "I was thinking, you and I never have Valentine's dates, so what if we just be each other's standing date? That way we won't be spending it alone, and we can just chill out with each other."

  Daniel was taken off-guard. He had forgotten about Valentine's. He didn't really care for it. But her offer was a good deal, he really would rather spend it with a friend than with nobody. He thought for a moment, and then he gave a tip of the head and shrugged his shoulders.

  "I don't see any harm."

  "Cool, I'll let my mom know. You wanna go get food that night, then?" 

  "Might as well."

  "Nice," Rachel grinned. If food were involved, she was always interested. "I'm gonna go return this book, mom's waiting for me. I'll see you later, Danny." She made her way through the shelves, and he exhaled. 

  Too risky. 

  Try again another time.

  He left the library empty-handed and came home and as he thought about the day, he cursed himself for being such a coward. It was just Rachel, she would understand his search, but it felt so horribly dark that he be exploring things outside of their faiths that they were born into that he very much no longer held. He didn't know how to term his feelings, but the world felt falsified and the universe felt like it lost it's beauty when he had seen that it was all nothing in the end.

  He hated that he hadn't found the books today, but in time, he would. He assured himself of this, rolling over in his bed that night, and knew that one day he would have more than enough knowledge on these topics. So he slept peacefully.


	34. A Simple Proposal

  The excitement spilling in the air covered their clothes and their heads and hearts. The Valentine's dance was coming up, and everyone was asking about who everyone was taking, and people were talking all about their dates or their best friend's dates and so on. Between classes, on the way to social studies, Patrick felt a hand on his shoulder.

  "Hey, Patrick! Who're you taking to the dance?" Abraham had such a cheery air to him that he must have just aced a test, his eyes bright and alight and his features excitable. Patrick shrugged off his hand, a mild mannered frown over his lips.

  "I don't do dances, Abey, sorry."

  "Aw, why's that? I'm sure you're good at it."

  Daniel, standing next to Patrick, looked at his burgundy-haired friend, whose gingham blue and white shirt was tucked neatly into his khakis. "Yeah, why don't you do dances? They're kinda neat, you know." 

  "I can't dance, fellas, y'all know that." He replied, a forced chuckle off his lips. Abraham thought for a second, looking around, then leaned himself closer.

  "Well, maybe I could teach you? My parents are going out of town for a mission trip, and I know a lot about dances, so if you need someone to help you out..." 

  His offer was sweet and it seemed to tint the air a rose bloom color, the way he was kind and always lending his hand to everyone, especially when he knew the person, especially when he was good at what he offered to do, especially with Patrick. Daniel bit his lip. Patrick looked at him, then at Abraham, floods of other eighth graders maneuvering around them all. 

  "Uh, sure. What time?" 

  "Maybe seven on Saturday? I don't have any plans," Abraham ran his fingers through his white blond hair, and his smile brightened like the sun, his eyes crinkled up at the edges in the kindest imaginable look. Daniel's stomach dropped as he felt something akin to frustration with the two of them. This wasn't right, was it? Abraham was their friend, and he was offering to teach Patrick something that could prove useful in the future, and it was only right that the offer be taken up. After all, it'd be nice for Patrick to dance and to learn how to do it well. But he couldn't shake off this feeling no matter how much he tried, because it was vile, because it sat in the pit of his abdomen like a snake curled up and coiling around his heart. There was a thumping in his chest and he was deaf to all but this moment.

  "I mean, it'd be good to learn. So uh, sure?" Patrick quirked a brow and twitched the edge of his mouth into a resigned, nervous-but-giddy grin, and Abraham positively beamed- no, _radiated,_ at them.

  "Excellent! I'll see you both then!"

  "Wait, both?" Daniel spluttered.

  "Yes? Unless you don't want to, Danny, it's fine! I was just thinking we could all hang out and uh," Abraham receded into himself, sheepish suddenly, "It gets quiet at my house without my mom and dad, so-"

  "No, I'd love to," He rushed out, looking at Abraham and Patrick, "I think it'll be fun. What's the harm in spending the night listening to music and dancing?" 

  Abraham was satiated, as shown by his radiating smile and his gleeful laugh. He told them it sounded wonderful, and then sprinted off to his science class, his heels kicked up behind him and his baby blue backpack bouncing against his back, and then he was gone. Like an apparition fading behind a veil. Patrick and Daniel watched him, and then Patrick turned his attention to his friend, knitting his brow.

  "You okay? You kinda clammed up a bit, everything good?"

  "Yeah, everything's good, I'm good." Daniel feigned a laugh even as a mild flush poured over his features, and tugged his backpack tighter to his body, the strap digging into his shoulder. Patrick didn't ask any further questions, and the two headed to class together, even though they were internally juggling with the moment. Daniel could never mention why Abraham's offer made his head spin, he'd never admit it, but it was good to know he'd be there, too. Because then at least he could be with Patrick, have a chance to dance with him, and know that everything was just as it should be, in the right place, all crevices filled in with the mortar of his secret.


	35. Dance Lessons

  Saturday was a flourish of motion in the home of Brother White, who was out of town with his wife on a mission trip to Atlanta, and Abraham had been deemed responsible enough to handle the house on his own. After all, the preacher's son who was held with an iron fist and had a deep, nagging fear of consequence could be trusted. So he purchased grape soda and sprite at the convenience store, a bag of chips, and asked everyone to bring their own CDs if they had songs they wanted to dance to. Rachel, of course, arrived with four, loaded with her favorite songs. She threw her arms around Abraham's neck, hugging him tight, her violet-black hair no longer straightened, letting her curls fall to her shoulders. She was still keeping it dyed and dark, and her eyeshadow was rust red and smeared around her eyes, black eyeliner smudged.   
  
  "Evening, Abey," She greeted, and he smiled at her politely.  
  
  "Evening! Is everyone else here yet?" He glanced behind her, but she shook her head.  
  
  "I'm early, sorry, just thought I'd come by and show you what I brought." She reached into her purse, pulling out one clear CD case, then parting the purse more to show the rest all resting inside. He nodded, and moved aside.  
  
  "Thanks, I'm kind of at a loss for what to dance to, my parents don't exactly like contemporary music."  
  
  "Got'cha." Rachel grinned, moving inside. The air of Abraham's house always smelled of vanilla and some sort of spice, the scent that felt soft and biting all at once. She plopped down on the couch, her black jeans contrasting with the cream leather. Abraham sat down with her, and the two went through the CDs, the tracklists (scrawled in sharpie on the back of the cases), and what would be good to learn to dance to. Rachel enthused about her music, the songs she had chosen and the songs that he just knew he would love, and as they decided which CD to play first, a knock reached across the noise and grabbed their attention. Abraham stood, twisting the knob, and Johnny, Jason, Daniel, and Patrick all filed inside.  
  
  "We walked here together," Patrick said, looking over at Rachel. "Why're you early?"   
  
  "Thought I'd help him pick the song you're gonna learn to dance to." She snickered. "Gosh, can't believe you don't have moves! It's gonna be great."   
  
  "Rachel," He frowned, flushed cheeks warm and pink. Daniel grinned, nudging him with his elbow.  
  
  "You're turning as red as her hair."   
  
  "My hair's black right now, thanks," She rolled her eyes, placing a CD into the stereo and sitting down on the couch, Johnny sliding into place beside her. Abraham brought out a bowl of chips and a bottle of grape soda, and Rachel thanked him profusely. "Can't believe you remembered!" She exclaimed, and he waved it away, saying it's no problem, he knew she loved grape flavored things, and then took a moment to survey his guests.  
  
   "So, I'll be teaching our friend Patrick to dance, if that's what y'all are ready for."   
  
  "Abso-fucking-lutely. Can't wait to see it." She smirked, watching as Patrick - nervously, at first - rose from the couch.   
  
  Their hands clasped together, right and left, left on waist, right on shoulder. Rachel gave a loud whoop and took a sip from her bottle of soda as everyone else settled in on the couch. Patrick chuckled, staring down at their feet.  
  
  "Nervous?" Abraham asked in a low, tender voice. Patrick swallowed, nodding.  
  
  "Yeah, I don't wanna trip over your feet."   
  
  "Aw hon, don't worry about that." Abraham smiled as he gripped Patrick's hand tighter, fingers curled and palms pressed so close. Their hands were like a key and lock, a perfect fit, so smoothly fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Rachel hopped up from the couch and pressed play on the stereo, Morrissey's voice coming through and filling the air.  
  
 _'Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head...'_  
  
  Abraham stepped slowly, guiding Patrick across the living room floor, his hand firm on the other's waist. Daniel watched them, leaning forward, bottle of sprite gripped tight in his hand. Jason and Johnny both stopped their little jokes with each other, looking to the two, watching their feet shuffle - awkwardly at first - across the hard wood floors. Patrick whispered quick apologies to Abraham whenever he stepped on his feet, Abraham merely shook his head, and instructed Patrick how to continue the steps.  
  
  "Now, I need to twirl you," He mumbled, just audible for Patrick, who nodded shakily as he felt his arm extend over his head, and Abraham guiding him to spin. He felt so alive, like the colors inside him were bursting from his chest, like the world was deaf and blind before this moment.   
  
  Daniel and Rachel watched, Jason and Johnny whispering to each other. The room felt illuminated. Abraham and Patrick were like matches igniting, like magic, magic and all that was divine. The sight of them took the breath from their lungs, even as staggering and awkward as their dance was. Rachel leaned back, laughing softly. And Daniel, as he watched, could only stare, biting his bottom lip.  
  
 _'And I know it's over, still I cling, I don't know where else I can go...'_  
  
  And as their dance came to a close, it stopped just as it started; right and left, left on waist, right on shoulder. And Abraham laughed, soft, sweet.  
  
  "You're not too bad, Patrick," He commented, letting go of the other. He felt a deep and lingering emptiness when Abraham let go. Then he smiled and the two sat down, and he looked over at Daniel.  
  
  "Danny, you okay? You keep biting your lip like that, it's gonna bleed." Patrick looked at the blond, who was sitting there, bottom lip gripped firmly between his teeth. He then released it, and rubbed the back of his neck, smiling at his best friend, the person he knew as well as himself, and then realized in that moment he didn't. He didn't know him that well at all.  
  
  "Yeah, I'm alright," He said, his eyes glinting with false joy. Seeing Abraham and Patrick dance together was like being doused in gasoline. One match, ignite him, and burn him down. 


	36. Valentines II: The Reckoning

  The Valentine's dance, garnished in pinks and reds, was a night for all of the middle schoolers to try to get about as wild as middle schoolers could in a predominantly Christian school, monitored by teachers. Daniel, outfitted in a beige suit, arrived at Rachel's door and knocked briskly. His parents were at home, father working on things for the law firm and mother finishing up some work from her secretary job, and so Veronica and her husband Arthur would be driving them to the dance and then to Lafayette's restaurant afterwards. Veronica slid a flip phone into Rachel's bag before she answered the door, beaming at her friend.

  "Don't _you_ just look spiffy?" She teased, hands on her hips. She wore a deep maroon dress and black tights (she had insisted on the black tights), a black purse strung over her shoulder, and her lip gloss had traces of glitter.

  She looked like she could kill a man, just how she liked it. Daniel looked down at her feet, and not to his surprise, she wore flats. Heels were not her thing. 

  "Alright, are you two ready?" Veronica swept in like rain, and her husband followed, his salt and pepper hair cropped short and kept tidy. Daniel nodded at them, then looked at Rachel.

  "So, are we going to eat after the dance? If that's not to much, I mean," He rushed out, turning his gaze to Veronica and Arthur. They both laughed and pat his shoulder as they stepped out of the house, looking at the two middle schoolers.

  "Absolutely, but don't worry! We'll leave you two young'uns alone," Arthur grinned at his daughter and Daniel, winking.

  "Dad!" Rachel spluttered, hurrying after her parents into the car. Daniel was last to slide in, all buckling their seatbelts.

  "I'm kiddin' with ya, Rachel, cool down. Y'all ready?" Arthur craned his neck to look back at the two, and Daniel nodded, hands placed meekly into his lap.

  "Yessir."

  And with that, they headed off, the streets of their neighborhood fading into the streets of the main town, then the school, then the middle school parking lot, then the two teenagers stepping out of the car. Daniel and Rachel bid her family goodbye and linked arms, and Daniel hated the dishonesty of it. He did love her, because she was his friend, and he loved his friends dearly. But he couldn't help feeling he was cheating all of them out of something, lying to his friends and family and to himself about what he wanted and what he knew he wanted. 

  They were immediately swarmed by their friends, Ronnie and Charlotte linking arms with Jason and Johnny, Abraham and Patrick just standing with each other. They all greeted each other, passing jokes and laughter resonating inside all of them, filling the air, warm and cool and good. Daniel relaxed, looking at the way Patrick was dressed. A deep emerald suit and his hair gelled neatly back, his boyish face cheerful and scrunched up when he laughed. Abraham's suit was a ruby color, with a pastel pink bowtie for the occasion. He kept fiddling and fidgeting with it, reaching into his pockets on occasion to play with the jacks he kept stuffed inside for when he got nervous, or to keep his hands busy in general. Charlotte and Ronnie wore light colors, teal and pink respectively, and their hair was curled and elegant. They were all children on the cusp of the rest of their lives, sprouting wings to fly out into the world of high school come next August, and they were springing on their feet as they rushed like rabbits to the dance floor. Of course, the dance floor being the middle school gymnasium, but it was all the same. Rachel walked in slowly with Daniel, and the two became submerged in the semi-dark and the spotlights hastily installed and the music blaring out. 

* * *

 

  The first hour, maybe hour and a half passed by perfectly. Everyone was laughing, they'd all creep out and take photos together in the photo booth and had plenty where their faces were outstretched, wide smiles, and then they would immerse themselves in the music. All was going amazingly well, Daniel's anxiety had receded to the mere backdrop, and he and Rachel were talking by the punch bowl when he turned his head.   
A love song, slow and tender, played. And Daniel swallowed a large gulp of punch. He could see Patrick and Abraham sitting together, sitting the song out until a girl grabbed Patrick's hand. A girl he knew from one class or another, and the two swayed and then turned into slow dancing, and something sick and selfish snared itself in Daniel's throat. He swallowed thickly, another gulp of punch. Abraham cheered the two on from the bleacher he was seated in, giving a dream-like gaze to them, and sighing. 

  "Danny? You good?" Rachel tapped his shoulder. Daniel choked on a mouthful of punch, swallowing it quickly and coughing, rough wet aching in his throat. He turned to her and nodded, forcing a small smile. 

  "I'm good."

  "Wanna dance, then?" She offered, outstretching a hand. He thought it over. Nodded.

  "Okay." He took her hands and let this girl of fire and friendly advice lead him to the floor, spotlights casted over them and then over others and then hovering in the crowd like an organism that led it's own will, and as they swayed together he couldn't help but feel rooted to the ground, like a tree in a thunderstorm. Then she tugged him forward, and the two were almost touching, and in the quiet of their heads they thought how nice it was to be here, and in the loud of the music they thought how much they wished this night would just be for something better, bigger than the two of them. They could feel it, crackling in the air, this night was more than a dance and more than a fun event for their little group. Something was cemented here. What it was would not be clear for a few more years, but it was an abstraction that they could learn only the hazy shifting colors of right now. 

  Then the music switched, and Daniel felt the sick pit return to his stomach, and he looked at his friend. "Can we go? I don't feel too great."

  "Uh, sure, let me call mom real quick."

  Rachel dodged the people wandering around and made her way to the gym door, not questioning Daniel's decision. Dances weren't really her thing either, she just had fun being with her friends. 

* * *

 

  When they filed into the car, Veronica turned to them.

  "Didn't have fun at the dance, sweetie?"

  "Nah, Danny started feeling sick. Think he's a little shy." She grinned and nudged him with her elbow, and he laughed. He knew that he could rely on her to make light of it, to make nothing of it in fact, and as they drove to Lafayette's, they chattered about how wonderful it all was, how well-dressed everyone was, how much they loved the music and heart decorations. Rachel reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of plastic rose petals, scattering them over Daniel's head. The two laughed and threw the little plastic petals at each other until they arrived at the diner, Rachel's mother handing her some money and then sliding into a booth with her husband far from the two teens, who sat at a window and grinned.

  "Dude, weren't you sitting here when you drew that alien squid thing?" Rachel asked, pressing her palms onto the table. The memory came back like a snowstorm, fuzzy and quick.

  "Yeah, yeah we were, gosh. It was Sunday, right?"

  "Yeah! Dude! Holy crap, I remember. Did you ever name it?"

  "No, didn't think to."

  "Damn shame." Rachel snapped her fingers. "Whatever happened to it?"

  "I think it's in a shoebox in my closet somewhere."

  "Dig it out sometime, I wanna see it again."

  "Ughh- no, it's silly."

  "It was awesome, shut up."

  And so they went back and forth, ordering a small dinner of plain burgers and seasoned fries, and after a while of joking, Rachel looked to her friend with a concerned eye.

  "So, why did you start feeling sick? You look fine, you sound fine, what's up?"

  Daniel froze. His blood stuck like dry ice to his veins as he thought of an excuse, anything, just get him out of this situation. He swallowed. His throat felt like it was full of molasses and he couldn't think anything else than the truth and he couldn't say it, he wouldn't dare. 

  "I just wasn't having fun."

  "What, am I _that_ bad of a dancer?" Rachel prodded with a smirk.

  "No, just- I don't know. I just didn't feel good."

  "Mm... Okay." Rachel shrugged. She didn't doubt that something more was beneath the surface, but she knew her friend, and she wouldn't prod too harshly. He deserved that much from her. She and Daniel ate their dinners and talked about their plans for high school, what they wanted to study, what they wanted to do. Clubs, sports, anything they could. Rachel watched Daniel, his body language, his behavior, and she knew that deep down there was something he wasn't telling her. As they finished up and paid and drove home with Rachel's family, she kept giving him glances, stabbing knives of doubt and suspicion. She loved this boy, he was close as close could be, and she cared about his well-being. Yet he was building walls that she couldn't climb, and it hurt. She'd never admit how much it hurt, of course, that would be stupid. But she loved knowing he was okay, he was her close friend, and she didn't like being locked out of his life. One day she'd ask, and she'd hope for honesty when she did, and as they parted ways she knew that something was settling on the horizon. It was a thick haze of anxiety, and maybe one day they would overcome it. Until then, she watched as the open and outgoing boy built a wall around himself and refused to knock it down, even for her.


	37. Breathe

  The warm of the oncoming spring was perfect. Not too cold, not too hot, but they still wore light denim coats and dark colors. Daniel had brought Patrick over one early March Saturday, and the two sat in Daniel's backyard, staring out into the sky. 

  "Do you have plans for high school?" Patrick asked, looking at the blond, whose hair was parted on the side and whose bangs fell into his eyes. He shrugged.

  "No, you?"

  "Yeah. I wanna try theatre. Think I'd be any good at it?" Patrick jumped up, a mischief-burned smile on his lips as he swooped and kicked up his legs and made all sorts of motions out of the air, kneeling, reciting a fragment of Shakespeare, all to Daniel's amusement.

  "What light through yonder window breaks?" Patrick gazed out and up into the sky like he was staring up at a balcony, like waiting for his Juliet to descend and pull him with her into the clouds. 

  "Gosh, Patrick, you're a dork." Daniel rolled his eyes, his smile a sky-stretch wide, like it contained the sun. Patrick was a pigment of gold in his mind, everything solidified and right and true. He resumed his place beside Daniel, lacing their fingers together comfortably, and leaning his head onto his best friend's shoulder. They could never sit at school like this, the rumors would be immense and agonizing, but they could do so at their leisure alone, in the warm heat of a spring afternoon. Rose gardens were blooming in Daniel's neighbor's yard, and everything felt like it was stuck in a sick-sweet chamber of youth. 

  "I am a dork," Patrick hummed, "But I'm your best friend, so I'm your dork." He poked Daniel's cheek, and Daniel playfully swatted his hand away.

  "Cut it out, golly," He said, his eyes lingering on Patrick. His shirt was a dark green, a single, large black stripe through the middle of his chest and across to the sleeves, his denim jacket adding a splash of blue. Daniel loved green on him, the earthiness of it, the grounding it provided to a daydream. He closed his eyes, leaning his head to the side, letting it rest atop Patrick's. They were comfortable, like puzzle pieces finding each other, like the sum of something bright and beautiful. It hurt somewhere deep down that Daniel couldn't admit it, anything he wanted to say, but this moment was enough. He wouldn't let it be stolen by his stupid heart and his babbling brain. He pulled Patrick up with himself, both stumbling to their feet, and Patrick gazed at him quizzically.

  "What's up?"

  "We haven't played _Dragon_ in literally years." Daniel stated. "It's a shame, too. I used to love that game."

  "Danny, we're gonna be high schoolers and you still think about that dumb game we made up?"

  "It's not dumb, _Patty_." 

  "It's like glorified tag."

  "It's fun!" 

  "Dude, if you wanna play it I'll play, but you have to admit it is over glorified tag." Brows arched and a smirk on his face, Patrick stared at Daniel like a conman about to make him an offer he can't refuse. Daniel rolled his eyes again, and dramatically relinquished a sigh, throwing it down and resting his balled fists on his hips.

  "Fine, it's over glorified tag. Happy?"

  "Very." Patrick slapped Daniel's shoulder, and then sprinted away, "You're it!" He shouted after himself. Daniel, stunned, didn't realize they had started until Patrick was well away from him. He chased after him, feet light and racing across the yard, grass tread underfoot like water, like air, like clouds. He hollered about how he was going to get him, and Patrick let an onslaught of sarcastic remarks from his mouth, about how he was so afraid of the big bad dragon, oh, someone please help him! And Daniel couldn't suppress his beaming smile. He felt eight years old again, with his best friend, with the person who completed him like no other. He felt at home.

   And when Daniel made a rush to tackle Patrick, he lept too hard, and the two fell to the ground, rolling around and grasping at each other until Patrick was pinned to the grass, dirt in their clothes and hair and both breathing like they'd run a marathon. 

  Daniel stared down into his amber eyes, and felt the whole earth turn upside down. His stomach was wobbling and then turned to stone. His heart stopped and his smile fell and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe and Patrick was tilting his head, worry smattered on his face like mud.

  "Danny? Y- you okay, bud?" 

  The earth stopped spinning and Daniel found solid ground, sitting up, sitting on Patrick's legs, holding him there because he was still it, after all, and keeping him pinned was his best option, but oh gosh he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he-

  "I'm- yeah! Yeah, I'm fine, just..."

  "Danny," Patrick frowned, and the frown was felt in his voice, "You're lying. What's up?" 

  "Nothing, I'm just a bit- that took more out of me than I expected." 

  Even though Patrick didn't believe him, he'd let it slide. He smirked, slapping Daniel's arm. "Weak, you need to get in shape, dude. How's violin going, by the way? I've been meaning to ask but I kept forgetting."

  Violin! Violin, sweet violin, thank goodness for violin, he could breathe again. "It's going great, you know that movie, O Brother, Where Art Thou? I'm learning a song from it. My teacher was a bit surprised, but she's proud of me. Said if I had started earlier I could be a real prodigy." 

  Patrick nodded. "I've heard you playing with your window open. You're good, keep it up, okay?"

  "Will do." Daniel stood and offered Patrick his hand, helping him up off the ground. They played a few more rounds, and each time Daniel reminded himself to breathe, but he felt like each time he grabbed him he was awful for it, something twisted and wrong taking a hold of something good and righteous. One day he'd be all sorted out, things would be good, and he would be fine. Until then, they had this day, and they had each other for the afternoon.


	38. Set The Record Straight

  Afternoon after school and the sky was high and bright above them. Weightless and lifted like a sheet before it settles on a mattress, waiting for someone to dive into the blue. Abraham and Daniel, backpacks rested against the trunk of a large oak, laid out in the grass of the back yard of Brother White. He objected to their friendship with a bitten tongue. Silent about it outright, while his wife prayed that Abraham would grow on Daniel, rub off on him, change him. This didn't seem likely, because Abraham would never try to change one of his friends. He accepted Daniel, loved the boy, and would do nothing to change his life. 

  Daniel stared at the leaves that were blooming out and above, wavering in a cool breeze. The air was the hint of summer, a dusting of the warmth that they would feel this July. It lingered on the ground and in the trees and in the flowers that popped up here and there, and the white picket fence that surrounded the back yard was like a reminiscence of the old dream of the perfect life. 

  "What're your plans after high school?" Abraham asked, arm reaching up above him, back comfortably rested against the grass. He pointed his index finger up, and when Daniel looked to see why, he noticed a lady bug zooming about in the air. Abraham had always had a love for them, even when he hated most insects. He watched it zoom around and then away, and Abraham let his arm fall back to his side. 

  "Not sure. I think I'd like to be a doctor, but I don't know." Daniel replied, his own hands folded under his head as he shifted slightly, grass pricking at the soles of his socks, shoes kicked aside. Abraham laughed, pushing himself up.

  "I don't think so, Danny."

  "Why not?" He furrowed his brow, frowning at Abraham. 

  "Do you remember when we were four, and we were digging around in the Taylor's back yard?" Abraham quirked his brow, a grin on his face that was almost mischievous. 

  "Yeah?"

  "And Johnny handed you a handful of worms? And you dropped them and screamed and told his mom?" 

  Daniel didn't say anything for a bit. He could see where Abraham was going with this. If he was too squeamish to deal with a handful of worms, how could he handle people's blood and gore as he patched them back together, or handle people when they're at their most desperate and even at death's door? He remembered fishing with his father, and when he was about to bring it up, also remembered he had been a teenager when he had gone on that outing, not four. Things change, people change, but he still hated worms. 

  "Okay, so being a doctor is out of my options." Daniel laid there, shifting slightly. Abraham lowered himself back down into the grass, staring again at the small trails of white that passed above their heads like spectators of their lovely spring afternoon. "What about you, Abey?"

  He pulled out a metal jack from his pocket, twirling it between his fingers, and worried at his lip for a minute. Then he said it almost quietly, like he was ashamed, "I think I want to be a preacher." 

  Daniel heard this and for a moment didn't process it. Then he did, and he turned over on his side, watching his friend with curious eyes. "Really?" 

  "Yeah." Abraham breathed. "I'd like to be a preacher. My dad, he uh," He sat up quickly, eyes darting around, head swiveling on his neck quickly to be sure no one was listening, then fell back to the ground. "My dad's militant, like I told you that one time. He likes using God as an excuse, y'know? Like if he doesn't like something, he'll cite something out of context. Well, I've looked up the passages he uses, and my _golly,_ he's using them for his own agenda. It's awful, Danny, people don't need to have that sort of relationship with God, where everything is just- I don't know. Taken out of context, not researched. I mean, yeah, he spent time in seminary and he's ordained and all that, but it's so... I don't know, Danny, I don't know." Abraham shook his head, letting it slide from side to side against the grass, the back of his hair mussing up. "I just know I wanna set the record straight, and that's all." 

  There was a flush to his cheeks, agitation with his father pouring out in his words, and Daniel knew then that even if he didn't share Abraham's beliefs, he did support him. He paused to think for a while, before inching himself closer. "I get that, Abey. Your dad's an ass, if I'm going to be totally honest." He twitched up a smirk, and Abraham chuckled, "And I think that you'd be a great preacher. You've got the attitude, you're kind to everyone, I think you'll be great. I'll come to your first sermon, if that's alright."

  "Are you kidding? That'd be amazing, Danny." And there was such a bright smile on his face, Daniel thought he'd go blind, the truest love for his faith shining in every inch of his face. Abraham slowly brought an arm around Daniel, and the other reciprocated, and for a while they laid there, arms around each other, sides pressed into the grass and talking about the future. Abraham's mother called from the back door, and instantly they separated, and they all exchanged words for a while. Daniel pulled his backpack up his shoulders, and stretched out.

  "I need to get home, but I'm serious about this, pursue it. You'd be an amazing preacher." Daniel rested his hand on Abraham's shoulder, and the other boy smiled again, and nodded.

  "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow." He waved as Daniel left, then turned to face the rest of his yard, the stretches down the hill to another part of the neighborhood, and he stretched his arms out, to feel the air around him and to feel himself breathe. This was something changing, like he was slowly undergoing a metamorphosis, and he knew everyone else was, as well. They were no longer children, and now they had lives to look forward to after high school. All they had to do was survive that, and they'd be golden.


	39. Orange Dark

  There were street lights and there were moths and butterflies and legs kicking up dirt. There were rows upon rows of houses and the power lines moved in the wind, limp and listless and heavy. There were eyes that watched from porches, from windows, from doors. The sky was an endless shade of some form of bruised purple, the orange in the horizon fading and tinting every tree black, every fence was a hue of blue highlighted with electric orange. Every figure that walked had accentuated features, highlights of the same orange, shadows of blue-purple. Rachel's hair turned more orange than anyone else's, practically glowing in it, her overalls darker than their light denim tone in the half-dark. The outcasts of Cain kicked a soccer ball around down the street of the neighborhood, lights in every house just blinding glares. Childhood bloomed like a dandelion that sprung up and was now devoured, because they could feel it in the spring humidity, the ache of it. They were going to be entering high school come August, and none of them were prepared. Because they didn't know what to expect, what to do, and who to be. 

  But right now they had soccer.

  Daniel kicked the ball to Johnny, and Johnny to Rachel, and Rachel to Patrick. Jason and Abraham formed their own team, horribly outnumbered but not caring, and when Abraham intercepted Patrick and kicked the ball to Jason and they managed to score - hitting a certain tree on their side of the street was considered a score - they high fived and laughed. Johnny frowned and pressed his hands to his hips.

  "Come on, dude, really?"

  "Really!" Abraham cheered, and he and Jason grinned so smugly at everyone they might as well have gotten away with a crime. Rachel rolled her eyes, pulling up her bike and climbing on.

  "It's getting too dark, mom and dad want me home soon. See you guys later." She said, riding off into the orange and glowing away. The boys watched as she rode her bike home, strode up her porch and went inside.

  "So, what's next, guys?" Patrick asked, his grin absolutely beaming. Daniel looked at him, and now saw they were down to five. None of them had any suggestions, but none of them wanted to go home. Johnny and Jason sat with their backs pressed to the fence that now lined Daniel's yard - the Hubbards had gotten a fence only this past February - and looked at the houses facing them, and then up into the sky. The first bright stars were flecking the dark bruise horizon, orange having fully faded, leaving behind a dusty residue of periwinkle. They all felt something different in their veins, like a drug injected into their systems and burning them from the inside out.   
What's next could easily be a question of their relative placement. What could they do next? What could they play next? But the fact remained it was not such, it was a premonition, a question of what they were to be next, what's next, what's next after this and after all of this and after the final star faded in the sky and the sun burned them all up and out and ate them whole, a hungry wolf eating the gods. Daniel could see it all over their features like fluorescent paint, they were all unsure. He had no proof that the question had been a premonition, but it was in his heart, and it was all he could hear ringing out in his head.

  "I think maybe we could play tag, if you guys want." He suggested, a shrug of his shoulders indicative that he was uncertain. Jason grinned, and Patrick absolutely beamed.

  "Oh yeah! That might be fun. Never played it in the dark." He said, the enthusiasm in his voice genuine. "Okay, so, who's it?" 

  "Maybe Johnny?" Abraham looked to the raven-haired boy with viridian eyes, his mouth harsher than his twin's, his face much more solid. 

  "Nah, Johnny's a shit runner." Jason clapped his brother on the back with a wide smirk, and Johnny rolled his eyes.

  "Faster than you, buddy."

  "I made the track team, so beat that," Jason hummed, and all of them watched their light hearted quarrel. Abraham was smiling one moment, then a surprised frown crossed his features.

  "Oh- gosh, hey, uh, what time is it? About seven?" He looked between all of his friends, their features darkening in the haze of the oncoming night. 

  "About seven, yeah, why?"

  Abraham swallowed and tugged at the hem of his shirt, a nervous habit to give his hands something to do. "I gotta be home. Mom wanted me back by seven so we could have a nice dinner." He went around the group, lacing arms around each of them quickly, and then smiled, "But tell me how it went tomorrow, okay? I can't wait to hear about it. Tag in the dark's something." He beamed at them, and then the boy with white-blond hair rushed away, practically floating, a spectre spectator of their games, a bright and luminescent figure in their lives. Daniel watched him go and slipped his gaze back to Patrick, Jason and Johnny. And then there were four, he thought, shifting. Patrick looked between all of them, and sighed.

  "Gosh, guys. It is getting kinda dark. I'm gonna head home, don't wanna get lost in all of this." He slipped a wink to Daniel, and then flashed his smile to the Taylor boys, and walked away into the night.

  Daniel and the Taylor boys decided not to play tag in the dark after all. They all receded to their own corners of the world, and went about their nights.

* * *

  
  
  At around midnight, there was the familiar pebbles at Daniel's window. He slipped into some comfortable clothes, sliding his shoes quietly on, and tip-toed down the stairs. He found his way out the back door, it being quieter than the front, and met with Patrick out in the front yard.

  "Hey," He breathed, a bright smile on his lips.

  "Hey," Patrick roped his arm around Daniel's shoulder, and the two laughed quietly in the dark.

  "Where to?" Daniel asked as he looked around at the bright orange glow of the street lamps, the wide indigo sky, and the splattered white stars that spilled all along it. Patrick shrugged.

  "Wherever you wanna go." He said, and so they walked aimlessly through the neighborhood, hearts pounding wild in their chests, feet as quiet as they could humanly make them. They had only snuck out once, and it had been such a success, but a huge risk nonetheless. Patrick and Daniel settled for sitting under a tree a few blocks from their houses, backs to the bark and hands interlaced. They had been friends since their souls had locked eyes, since their eyes had locked hands, since their hands had fumbled together. And Daniel saw something golden in Patrick, something good, something that was beyond his own comprehension that made his chest whirl and his head spin. He wanted to tell him, but he was scared, and he was right to be scared. None often took kindly to a boy who could see something like love in another boy in their town. It was commonly shamed in church and in school, and he didn't know Patrick's own perspective. He felt sick like this, but he felt a good sick when they held hands, and when they talked in the dark and when they kept each other close just to be there. Patrick was his illness and his remedy in that soft dark, and he accepted it. 

  "Danny?" Patrick whispered, and Daniel turned his head.

  "Yeah?"

  "I don't wanna grow up."

  "Gosh, me neither, Paddy." Daniel sighed, closing his eyes and in a risky move, resting his head on his friend's shoulder. Patrick didn't mind, didn't even seem to notice, and they sat in silence.

  "I wish we could just go back to being six." Patrick admitted.

  "Me too."

  "I mean it, I don't- I don't think I'm cut out for high school. I'm not worried about the social stuff, but the academics- y'know? I'm just... a bit spooked. Y'all seem to have your shit together, but I sure don't."

  "Hey," Daniel lifted his head, eyes open, hand resting now on Patrick's other shoulder. He felt tangled up in his stomach, in his chest, his lungs tight. "None of us have it together. Johnny, Jason, Abey, Rachel... None of us. You know we're all just kids, too. But we're gonna make it, I know we will." 

  Patrick could faintly see him in the indigo dark, the hue of the street lamp a good few feet away helping to illuminate the highest features of his best friend's face. He stared at him as silent as death, and bit his bottom lip. He nodded. 

  "Yeah, guess you're right."

  "And don't you want to at least see what's at the other end of these next four years? We're all gonna be champions, Rachel said it herself." 

  "She's our local motivational speaker," Patrick snickered, an eyeroll included. 

  "She's our other best friend, and she's got a point. We've got it in us, Patrick, and I believe we'll all be something." Daniel slid back into place beside his best friend and tightened his grip on his hand, resting his head once again on his shoulder. Patrick paused for a while, just feeling the grooves of their fingers interlocked, just feeling the bones beneath and the way their youth slipped like blood and wine and water between the cracks of the sky. They were rooted here like the tree they leaned against, to grow ancient with it, and they could feel that in this moment they were marking time with a sharpie. It was a permanent part of them now. He looked down at Daniel's hand, and then at his best friend's face, and furrowed his brow.

  "Your pulse is out of control, Danny. You good?" 

  Daniel jolted, and looked at his best friend, and they were so close. He could faintly trace the outline of his lips with his eyes, the way they were parted barely inches, and the way that if he leaned in only a few more it would be real, it would be real and he could practically taste it.

  "Yeah," he nodded, "yeah, I'm good. I think I wanna go home."

  "Alright."

* * *

  
  They walked home in silence and Daniel kicked himself the entire way, and when they said goodbye and Daniel snuck back up to his room smelling of grass and air and the smell that always seemed to mark his best friend - a mixture of his deodorant and his shampoo - he pulled off his clothes and slid back into his pajamas, and fell back into bed, staring at the ceiling. He wanted it all to be okay. He wanted to be able to finally say something and nothing bad come of it and for it all to be okay. But there was nothing to do or say or think or be okay. He pulled his pillow tight to himself and breathed in, out, slow. He fell asleep with the only thought that if he wasn't such a coward, maybe it'd all work out. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe it would just be.


	40. Apollo

  The library in Cain was a large, brick building on the outside with glass doors. When you walk inside, you're immediately faced with a dark and pale olive green carpet and rows upon rows of books on either side. The librarian desk is to your immediate left, and the librarians are known for wearing mostly pale cardigans and either khakis or jeans with floral blouses. There is a section of books that is also to the left and a few feet down, and the floor is raised up a few inches. That section is the reference section. That section is where Daniel had managed to crawl to, after school, and pulling his backpack with him. 

  The blond boy curled up in the corner of this raised section, with a book in his lap. It was on the history of Ancient Greece, their gods taking a large part of the book. That was the only section he cared about. He devoured anything that his parents saw as myths, because they knew that now he was thirteen, and he could handle some myths. So he took advantage of this, told them he was doing projects, and spent as much time as he could carve out diving into the mythology of the Ancient Greeks. He shifted and pulled the book tighter and practically gorged himself on the information he could obtain from these pages. There was something sacred in it, being able to explore different ideas, being exposed to all of the possibilities out there in the universe. He set the book aside when the myth section was finished, and pulled his backpack up over his shoulders again, rising. He didn't have a lot of time to spend today. He had his violin lessons, and he needed those. His family was now paying for them, and while he was a wonderful violinist, he had other interests at the moment.

  As his mother drove him to his lessons he thought back on all of the things that he had read cooped up in that corner. _Kronos had devoured his children. Zeus, the youngest, had been saved by Rhea, and helped to save his siblings._

  These things ran through his mind like mice in a maze while he carefully played his violin, the bow bringing out the warmth in every note and every sound. He paid attention to the instructions given and he followed, and he went home an hour later. _Hestia kept the hearth._ He ate dinner with his family and he listened to them talk about their work before he opened his mouth and discussed his own day, skipping over details that they didn't need to hear. About his fascination with Hades. _Hades drew the short straw and became the god of the underworld._ They wouldn't appreciate that. 

  And so the weeks went on, on, on, on, until his recital.

  He had been preparing for months. His violin instructor had taught him firstly a song he had asked to learn, something he greedily longed to know every note and motion of, something complicated for a beginner but his determination had given him the time, the ability, the promise of playing it. The song was from a movie his family had shown him as a child, an allegory he now knew for the story of The Odyssey. He played the song at home day and night until his arms were sore and his fingers felt tender and bruised. Callouses were forming from pressing strings, and he was satisfied with his work. 

  But the night of the recital, he had to play a different tune. He had been instructed to play a classical piece, and so he did.

  He was the fourth to go up, the fourth of this teacher's promising students, and he arose from steps backstage and up into the spotlight. His black suit was shining and the spotlights made it hard to see, blinding the boy and turning all figures in the audience anonymous. He pulled his violin carefully onto his shoulder, the rest propped in place, his hand poised. 

  He was shaking. He was shaking so bad he couldn't breathe for a moment. All of these people here to hear him, all of these people, his friends, his family, his town. He closed his eyes.

_Athena and Poseidon had a contest, Athena won, became the patron of Athens. Demeter had a daughter, and that daughter - Persephone - had married Hades._

  He thought on the myths. They brought him some form of comfort. He swallowed, and allowed his arm to move, his hands to shift, the bow to raise, the bow to lower. The first note echoed. The second. The sounds became bright and airy and deep and rich all at once, but he didn't focus on that. It was all muscle memory to him now.

_Apollo was the Greek god of music._

_Apollo,_ he thought, _Apollo._

  He focused on Apollo.

  He played, and he played, and he didn't realize that anyone was listening until he stopped. And when he lowered his hand which held the bow, he heard only noisy silence.

  Then a roar of applause. He could feel it in his heart, swelling and welling up in his throat. He could feel their pulses and the resonations of each clap was a billion heartbeats combined in one tiny chest, and the world was a chasm split apart and he felt alive. He felt like the sun. He beamed at them, and took a bow, and left the stage.

  As he stepped down and was praised by his teacher he realized why he loved this moment so much. It wasn't just sharing a talent he never knew he had, no, it was the _praise._ The look of absolute adoration in everyone's eyes, the lack of contempt or second-thought. The look of pure enjoyment and bedazzlement at his work, at the way he carefully played each melody and brought it to them on another world of existence, delivered a song to them carefully and warmly. He realized it then, he desired it, the absolute adulation their praise provided. 

  He was swept up in his friends arms, and his family's arms, and he was swept up into the car and taken home later that night. Dinner passed by and eventually everyone was off to bed and he couldn't help but shake this feeling. He felt like his veins were gold, ichor, they were pure and immortal. And every second following the applause made him hungry for more, desperate for that same roar of approval, that cacophany of sound and that shaking in the floorboards that, perhaps, he had imagined. But he didn't care.

  The way he saw it, in that moment, he had become Apollo. And he had constructed a sun out of melody and string. And they adored him for it.


	41. The Efficacy of Praise

  The adulation, the absolute _rapture_ of it, did not fade from his mind for weeks.

  He went about his days completely overcome by it. There was warmth to everything now, gold light taking hold of his vision and spilling into the edges of everything. He woke in the morning with the lingering of the veneration of the crowd, and he went to school and he ate with his family and then he went to bed like he was wearing the memory as a coat. The praise had left him thriving, had left it's permanent mark on him and allowed him to feel a way he had never known, the heart-swelling and the soaring feeling of existing in it. Every day he lived was a daze like he had an opioid under his tongue, letting the chemicals slowly seep into his veins and into his brain and fill him with dizzy, dazzling light. The light that poured down and into him, leaving him alive. Alive. He was simply and abnormally alive. 

  And then one morning, it was gone.

  He woke up a few weeks after the recital, and there was a cold pit in his stomach, a cavernous feeling. He fumbled out of bed and he dressed himself, but all the while he couldn't shake that something was wrong. He tried to summon the memory of praise and of eyes latching to every motion and sound warm and rich to the forefront of his mind, but it was stagnant and sludged and waterlogged, submerged in a swamp and he couldn't grasp it's form again. He had breakfast with his family and he listened to them talk and all the while he felt as though in his sleep, in the middle of the night, a vampire had come in and drained him and left. He was hollow now, a shell, and he wanted something to fill him with the same addictive worship as before. But he didn't have another recital for a few months. He was going to be preparing for it, but he wanted the praise _now._ Instant gratification made him feel selfish, but he wanted something, _anything_ to make him feel as he had the night of the recital and many nights after.

  The restless tingling beneath his fingers didn't leave him. He wanted to make something, _do_ something, be productive to elicit that sort of praise again. He was more diligent with his schoolwork, which led to more praise from his family but it wasn't enough. It wasn't a _crowd._ He could feel this greed inside of him, eating him, biting him because he didn't do enough, he wasn't _doing_ enough. Sunday sermons barely touched him - he had long since stopped listening - but every now and then he would talk about them, he would try to scrape out a detail or two and ask his family. He would listen to them talk about it, and one particular evening he sat in their living room with his mother and father, his mother working on some files she brought home and his father sorting the Saturday mail, and he spoke up.

  "Brother White's sermon was uh, interesting." He summoned from the back of his mouth. Gideon looked up from the mail, arching his brow.

  "How so?"

  "Well-" Daniel fidgeted a bit with the buttons on his cardigan. The weather was finally warming, April dancing into the air, yet there was a residual cold to everything. "I don't know, something he said stuck with me."

  "What would that be?" Sarah didn't look up from her work, but she stopped moving her delicate fingers over papers and instead let her hand hover. The TV was droning quietly on in the background, news that none of them cared about. 

  "He talked an awful lot about raising children correctly," Daniel hoped he was hitting the mark with this sentence. But the look on Gideon's face indicated that he was right, and as his father scrunched up his nose, removed his glasses and rubbed his temples, he watched. 

  "Cooper doesn't know shit about child rearing," a wry laugh left Gideon, "His son is an anxious mess 'cause o' the pressure he puts on him." 

  "Cooper?" Daniel cocked his head, a tiny crack letting loose into the air. Gideon and Sarah looked at their son, and then Gideon laughed again.

  "You didn't know his name's Cooper? Cooper Bryant White, yeah, but I guess we're so used to just calling him Brother White that it's more instinctual than his real name."

  "Huh." Daniel thought to the sign outside of Iron Chapel Baptist Church and tried to see it there, clear and painted on the surface, the name of their pastor. Rev. Cooper Bryant White, he supposed it was such a fixture in his life he never really noticed. 

  "Anyways, _Giddy_ here used to compete with him all the time. Y'all used to get in so many fights, do you remember that?" Sarah asked with a grin on her face, painted red lips curved into the smile that they both knew. 

  "Gosh, he tried to knock me out in the damn hallway cause I keyed his tires." Gideon had a genuine smirk on his face, and Daniel watched them quietly. He didn't know how they got on this subject, how they came to laughing, but they were, and it mattered for that moment.

  "You keyed Brother White's tires?" Daniel asked, a tad breathless at the idea.

  "We were seventeen, he got a new car, and I keyed his tires cause he went around with my girl in high school." 

  "Not me, might I add, another girl." Sarah interjected, and then gave Gideon another smirk. Turning her gaze back to Daniel, she spoke, "Your father and I were just friends all through high school. Hell, I don't think we really hung out _that_ much." 

  It wasn't that Daniel was marveling that they were talking, no, it was that they were giving him pieces of information he hadn't known before. He had never known that his father and Brother White were enemies of any sort in their youth, but he supposed it made sense. They were not always amicable towards each other. 

  This was not praise, but hearing the calm conversations that were interrupted with laughs, seeing his father fully sober and his mother entertained, it was a nice moment. He didn't want to ruin it.

  So he set aside his own thoughts for a second, and let these new bits of information fill his head with visions of teenagers not much older than he, attending the same high school, and living entirely different lives.


	42. Hold Your Breath

  All day he wracked his brain and blamed it. How could he _not_ know Brother White’s name? He’d been to Abraham’s house numerous times over the years, how could he blank on something he had heard a million times? Maybe he had tossed it out with the garbage, not really cared to know it, because in the end it wasn’t crucial to himself. That was just the way it worked, he supposed, and he knew that there was little he could do about it. 

  So he stopped worrying over it, no use, it was just a fact of life misplaced. He went about his time as he normally would, and while that same crucial need for praise was there, it was weaker now. He had very little use for feeling upset over it. The counselors of their school pulled all of the eighth graders into the cafeteria, set up microphones, and brought in the high school counselors to tell them all about how important the next four years were. They talked about college, the ACT, their grades, the fun that was to be had - _but not too much fun!_ \- and the opportunities that were sprouting up around them and were going to lead them all into the next chapters of their lives. 

  As the day came to a close, Daniel sat comfortably between Patrick and Rachel on the girl's porch, staring at the street and ruminating over the day's events. 

  "So we're all gonna be spending the next four years in the high school, then we're free." Rachel grinned. She was ready, already planning out her classes and the quickest way to graduate. Maybe she'd graduate early. Get all of her necessary classes done, spend the last two years barely on campus, and get into a college and get a degree in whatever she wanted. 

  "We're not gonna be _free,_ Rachel," Patrick rolled his eyes, but a grin was splattered across his face, messy and painted and bright. "We're gonna be out of the school system, but then we've gotta handle college, then there's getting married and having kids and... Well, working, growing old..." He trailed off, because they knew the end of it, and everyone agreed in silence that it was a morbid way to end the sentence. 

  "Do you guys think you'll be going to prom?" Rachel asked. Daniel shrugged.

  "I think so, but I don't think I'll stay the entire night. Maybe I'll show up for a few minutes and head off." Patrick said.

  "Same here, not that interested in dancing in front of our entire school." Daniel laughed.

  "Not the _entire_ school, just the entire junior and senior part, and even then, lots of kids don't go to prom." Rachel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The violet dark dye was fading, and she needed to re-dye, but for now she waited so as not to damage her hair. They remained in silence as the April sun bloomed along the horizon, orange glow easing into the scenery. Everything felt warm and comfortable between all of them, the way it should be, the way they would forever be. The three of them against the world, and with three other friends, they were unstoppable. 

  "Abraham said he wants to be a preacher," Daniel filled the moment with the blurting out of a sentence, and Rachel grinned. 

  "Good. His dad sucks. We need someone who actually knows what they're talking about." 

  "Rachel, come on, Brother White isn't great, but he's not..." Patrick could see the looks both his friends were giving him, and he bit his tongue.

  "He's fire and brimstone, which isn't exactly good, according to my dad." Rachel rose up and dusted off her knees and jeans, then placed her hands on her hips. "My dad was raised Catholic, though, so he's got a few different ideas on things." 

  Daniel watched her rise up, and he knew she was going to be something. The change of the world was in their fingers and thrumming through their feet, like they could predict the intensity of the next four years, but no one could. They just felt the anxieties of leaving middle school and preparing for high school, the anxieties everyone else felt, but nothing more. It was a simple tingling in the air, almost static, just brimming. Daniel stared at Rachel, and then turned his eyes to Patrick, the way his amber eyes were pure gold in the orange noon sun, and the way his face was smooth and carved like a marble idol, and the way his entire existence was hypnotizing to the blond. He felt himself sickening that he was continuing to have these thoughts. His parents all those years ago, arguing about him, about how he wanted to give Patrick a Valentines card, the only vision dancing through his head. His mother's hissed comment with tears in her eyes. If feeling anything for someone made him disgusting to them, then he wouldn't want to. He tried to change it but nothing changed, it only grew, and he didn't realize his friends were staring at him until he heard a small shuffling of fabric and the pressure of a hand on his shoulder.

  "Danny? You're kinda staring into the street, everything alright?" 

  He snapped his gaze to Rachel, swallowed, nodded and stood. "Yeah, yeah, just worried about next year, that's all."

  "Aren't we all," Patrick laughed. "Come on, let's get home, mom's making spaghetti. You did remember you're coming over to my place for dinner, right?"

  Daniel's stomach dropped, and he didn't feel well at all, but he nodded. "Of course. Let's get going, then."

  They bid Rachel goodbye and watched their fire-bright friend disappear behind her door, and walked quietly to Patrick's house. The smell of cooking pasta and tomato sauce filled the air, and Daniel tried to relax, but he couldn't stop thinking about his family and what, if anything, these feelings might mean. For him, for Patrick, for everyone around them. He wanted to sharpen a blade and take the thoughts out with one swipe, but there was nothing he could do.

  So he sat with Patrick and his family at their table as they said Grace and ate with them as he had so many times before. He spoke perfectly about his violin lessons, how he was enjoying them, how much he appreciated Rose and Patrick giving him the violin and the lessons in the first place, and kept that stunningly bright smile on his mouth. He helped clean up and he said goodbye to Patrick and by the time he got home, he could breathe again.

  He hadn't even realized he'd felt like he was holding his breath, but his lungs felt crowded full of cotton, and his legs were weak and shaky beneath him despite keeping him upright just fine. He told his parents all about his day, and as he did so, he still thought about that night he had overheard them. And he thought about how angry they had been at just the idea, just the mere thought, he could have feelings for a boy. He went to bed early, stretched out on his mattress, and stared up blankly at the ceiling.

  _God,_ he thought, _God, if You're out there, why did You do this to me?_

  The only reply he got was the scream of the crickets outside his window. And so he went to sleep, and tried to think nothing of it.


	43. Up and Up and Down

  He had been doing so well, and Daniel and his mother knew it. Gideon had been slowly, gradually, giving himself less whiskey in the flask. Less glasses before bed. Less time spent at the bar. This was a big thing, no matter how small on the surface it seemed, for the Hubbard family. But no one commented on it, it went on as the somber thing it was, unmentionable the amount of alcohol Gideon downed, as it slumped into one less glass, one less flask, every so often. 

  But what goes up must eventually come down.

  For Gideon, it was his job. The stress of a new case, the stress of his boss, being a paralegal was not easy. It wasn't his first choice of employment either. No, he had wanted to do something more, _be_ something more with his life, he wanted something with the world and he could not have it, so he became bitter. And now he drinks. 

  Daniel had been at school. It was a sticky, May afternoon when Summer was just budding on the horizon, the edges of it dipped into the green of the trees, brightening the leaves. He had spent an incredible amount of time in their library lately, preferring to spend his lunches among the rows of books and chairs, eating quietly while the librarian kept her distant yet scrutinizing gaze on the boy. She had a very long-standing dislike of food in the library, but as long as he cleaned up - which he always did - she was willing to let it pass.

  He had checked out a book that afternoon and slipped it into his backpack before heading off to his class. He paid attention to the teacher, to the lesson he barely understood, while every inch of his mind squirmed at what was resting among his Algebra notes and his Social Studies homework. He didn't say a word to anyone about what he now had, what he had managed to find. He just listened, wrote his notes, and chatted with his friends like it was a normal Wednesday afternoon. 

  He had been at school, which meant he was temporarily out of the family loop. And when his mother picked him up, there was something distinctly different in her demeanor. She was stiff-shouldered and gripping the steering wheel much tighter, her knuckles bone white, her hair pulled back and up. She kept her tight posture as she drove quietly, asking her son about his day through pursed lips. He didn't want to talk, not with her like this, but he did. He told her about his classes, and gracefully skipped over the part about spending his lunch in the library. He told her about how he was ready to get out of middle school, and she laughed, telling him he would be glad to go back if he knew what was ahead.

  He very respectfully disagreed. 

  They slid quietly into the driveway, hitting a familiar bump, and before Sarah turned the car off entirely, she turned to her son. "Your father went on a _binge,_ " her lips and throat were tight, but she kept it together, "so he's sleeping it off. Try to be quiet."

  Daniel stared at her, and rumpled up his brow. "He hasn't... He hasn't been drinking a lot. Why now?"

  "I don't know," She resigned a sigh, and slid her palm down the bridge of her nose. "Something to do with work, his boss, I don't know. He got off work early and decided he'd rather spend it in a bar than at home."

  They moved from the car to the house in a silent procession, and Daniel snuck upstairs, setting his backpack down with a muffled thud. He could hear his father's snoring, undisturbed, and quickly made his way back down to the living room. Sarah was pouring a glass of wine. Daniel, motionless in the doorway, watched her while confusion stuck in his chest like an arrow.

  "Momma," He breathed, exasperated, "You get onto him about it, and then you go and have a drink."

  " _Daniel Joseph,_ " She closed her eyes, setting the bottle down on the coffee table, resting the crux of her palm against the bridge of her nose. " _Please._ I need a moment, just let me have this." 

  He wanted to object. And he did, because he was tired of his father's personality when he was drunk, and he didn't want to witness his mother's. "Isn't that hypocritical? You're just doing the same thing you tell him not to do, and frankly-"

  "Son," She snapped, her jaws wolf-like in how quickly the word escaped her teeth, "You're not old enough to understand. You'll see it one day. But right now, you need to stop making accusations." She paused. "You _know_ your father and I love you, right?"

  It blindsided him, an entire new car in the lane slamming into the body of an unsuspecting doe. "Yes?" He frowned.

  "Then you trust we wouldn't do _anything_ to hurt you, or upset you intentionally, right?"

  This seemed a bit too late. They had done both in the past, a few isolated incidents that popped into his head. "Yes." He slowly laced his fingers behind his back and suddenly he felt six years old again, dirty shorts after his birthday party and his mother's biting words biding her time until she could take care of it all. 

  "Then you know that sometimes we make decisions that may not seem rational at the moment," she took a sip from the glass, "but will eventually benefit us all, right? Well, I'm using this wine to calm me down, so I can talk to your father later and not lose my head." 

  He didn't understand, and he wouldn't pretend to. But he watched her closely for a moment, and let the silence do it's work. People talk more in silence, he had heard once in a film or a book or a play, he couldn't be sure.

  "Honey, I love your father, but..."

  And it struck Daniel then, in as vague a way and as unclear in image as it could strike an eighth grader, that love should have no but's. It should only have and's. Love should be made of endless infinite fabric, tailored to the ones within it's grasp. If you were to ask him, love should be nothing if not unconditional. And it struck him with much more clarity, that perhaps that is why people fall out of it so quickly - unravel the cloth. Because they were never truly wrapped up, but merely brushing fingers over it, the silk texture and cotton-light and tenderness. To his mind he knew only this; love was not a statement to be followed by an excuse. Love was a statement that went on and on and on and on. But no, none of this imagery would become clear for a while. All he could feel truly was that this was not love as it should be. 

  His mother sat there and she looked slumped and quiet and defeated by the curse they all bore. Gideon was a drunkard, she bent people to her will, and her son was a heretic. 

  What a lovely family that one day would burn, they could practically hear Brother White grin and grit his teeth at them. Neither one of them spoke for a while, and so Daniel stepped over to his mother.

  "You won't get drunk, right?"

  "No, honey," She shook her head, "Just a glass or two, to clear my head."

  He didn't care anymore. Get drunk. Go wild. Whatever. He had bigger concerns. So he took his leave. He tip toed up the stairs and went to his room, twisting the doorknob and keeping it in his grasp until the door was safely shut, then rushing to his backpack and swooping in, gripping the book he had checked out from the library. It rested between his fingers and it almost burned to hold, but here it was.

 _The Norse Myths_ by Kevin Crossley-Holland, a book his parents would never approve of. And he had smuggled it from his school library, checking it out using Patrick's student number - he had told him he could, they had an agreement - and the librarian asked no questions, as long as the book returned in the same condition it left. So it was not on his record. It was not technically his.

  Daniel sat down in his bedroom floor, and if these stories, these beautiful and wondrous and horrifying tales were the sun, he was the wolf devouring it whole.


	44. Goosebumps

If you asked a group of children in the early 2000s what books they enjoyed, especially middle school children, chances are, your answers would include _Goosebumps_ by R. L. Stine. The outcasts of Cain were no exception.

  Rachel was the first to delve into them, finding the somewhat beat up, brightly colored copies of the books in the corner of the children's section. She grabbed an armful of them and told her mom she knew exactly what she was going to be reading this Summer. Her mother, rather enthusiastically, checked out every single copy in her daughter's arms, amounting to about eight, as Rachel didn't want to overdo it. Veronica and Rachel had bonded much more since Veronica loosened her reigns on her daughter, deciding that Rachel was such a force of nature, there was no stopping her if she had her mind on something. Rachel had been and still was thankful for this. 

  Fairly soon, the books were spread like the cold virus through her group of friends. She first got Charlotte and Darlene into them, hoping it'd help these girls step out of their comfort zones, and then Jason and Johnny, knowing that these boys would find the tales of mild horror to be thrilling. 

  And then she set her sights on Daniel and Patrick. 

  She split the eight books up into two groups of four, and one sunny afternoon, marched into their Social Studies class with the books in her backpack. The window in the back of the classroom was open, spilling light onto Daniel's back where he sat, scribbling little doodles in the edges of his notes. A bright, high-note thump down on his desk jolted him out of his focus, and he lurched his gaze up to Rachel, whose red backpack was slung lazily on her shoulder. She then set four books on Patrick's desk, and took her seat between them, grinning, her straightened and now re-dyed hair tucked behind her ears.

  "So I found a book series you boys will love." She stated, and they both gave her quizzical looks.

  "I've seen these books around," Patrick picked one of them up, feeling the paper between his fingers as he thumbed through the pages. "I just never checked them out. Seemed weird to me."

  "They're not _weird,_ Patty, they're _cool._ " Rachel grinned and turned her eyes to Daniel, "What do you think?"

  "Uh," Daniel had been in the middle of the opening paragraph of one of the books, and looked to her, rumpling up his brow, "These are... Interesting, definitely."

  "Come on, guys, give them a try."

* * *

  
  Daniel decided that he would. He came home that afternoon, kicking off his shoes and setting his backpack down in his room, before coming back downstairs, a copy of _Goosebumps_ in his hand. "Hey, momma," he stepped into the living room, his mother with her new laptop seated comfortably on the couch, her hands poised on the keyboard, "Rachel handed me a book at school today. They're called Goosebumps."

  "That's a strange name for a book," Sarah looked up at her son, arching a brow, "What are they about?" 

  "Horror stories, werewolves and vampires-"

  "Horror. Rachel Willcox gave you horror stories."

  "Well, yeah," Daniel's cheeks flushed, and he realized he may have made a mistake. He knew he shouldn't have mentioned them, but he wanted to share his enthusiasm, "They're good, I like them a lot."

  "Son," She rubbed the bridge of her nose, setting her laptop aside, "Horror stories are not very good for your brain, especially at your age. You don't want to go through life being convinced a werewolf is going to attack you, or that vampires are real, do you?"

  Daniel stared at his mother, narrowing his eyes momentarily, then cocking his head to the right. "I don't think any of that is real, momma, they're just stories."

  "Stories meant to mislead children from God and His angels." 

_Oh, here we go again,_ he thought with more venom than a snake could produce. But this was no argument. He said he'd return the books to Rachel first thing tomorrow.

  He did not return the books to Rachel. 

  He kept them under his mattress, and would pull them out in the middle of the night, or stuff them in his backpack and read them at school. Rachel was delighted, and she noticed Patrick enjoyed them as well. She had successfully dragged all of her friends into her favorite books, and soon the group would find themselves discussing them. _What did they think of this story? Or perhaps about this one? But what about the one where...?_

* * *

  
  This went on well after middle school officially ended, with less fanfare than one expected. Cain Silvers Middle School did not have a middle school graduation ceremony. One simply went home, and enjoyed their Summer.

  And on the Saturday of the end of middle school, officially the first weekend of the rest of their lives, Daniel went to visit Rachel.

  He opened the door, stepping inside, and saw Veronica and Arthur taking apart a bookcase, screws and tools scattered about like litter. Rachel emerged from her room in overalls and one of her father's flannels, sleeves rolled up past her elbows, hair tied back.

  "Oh, hey, Danny! We're moving my room upstairs this Summer, isn't that neat?" She was beaming, delight pouring into every feature of her young face. "Dad's gonna turn my old room into an office, and mom's already getting together a garage sale so we can get rid of my baby shit." 

  "Rachel, hon, can you pass me the screwdriver?" Veronica piped up from her seat on the floor, reaching her hand back. Rachel handed her mother the tool, and Veronica shifted her eyes to Daniel. She had the same hair as her daughter, but several shades darker, a sweet and all-encompassing red that framed her heart face. She had stopped wearing glasses a few years ago, her contact lenses being much more comfortable for her, and she had evidently stopped scolding her daughter for her foul mouth. "Oh, Daniel, do you want anything? Water, juice...?"

  "Honey, the kid just got here, let him chill for a minute before he decides what he wants," Arthur laughed, "And in any _case,_ " he gestured to the pieces of bookcase, the dismantled shelves and ends, and the pun slammed into them all in waves. First it hit Veronica, who rubbed her temples with a groan, then Rachel and Daniel, who both laughed at Arthur's little joke, "I _think_ we need to focus on this more than that. He knows where everything is." Arthur waved his hand dismissively, and kept that same bright grin on his mouth as he and Veronica finished dismantling the bookcase. 

  Daniel stepped up to Rachel's side, and the girl took his hand, leading him up the stairs in a rush. She bounded down the hall, bare footsteps making tap-thumps on the wood floors, and threw open the door to her new bedroom. The room had been cleared out save for a few pieces of furniture, indicating that this had been Arthur's office up until recently. Daniel looked around the room, the bare carpet, the blue walls, and then to Rachel. "So this is where we'll be reading Harry Potter and Goosebumps from now on?" 

  "Yeah!" She beamed at him, walking over to the window, pressing her palms down on the sill. "This room's larger than my old one, so I'll have more space to just hang out. Plus, I can see half the neighborhood from here, so it's a better view than just a couple of houses and a street." 

  Daniel agreed, and then sat down in the remaining chair. "Hey, Rachel, I came over to give you back your Goosebumps books, by the way."

  "Oh! Yeah, crap, I forgot. I was wondering why you had your bag with you." 

  Daniel reached into his backpack, retrieving two copies, then two more, and setting them on the desk.

  "So, what did you think?" Rachel's words rushed from her and into his ears, essentially screaming that she hoped he enjoyed them. 

  "They were great, but momma got mad about them, so I had to read them kinda in secret." Daniel forced a small grin, but Rachel didn't buy it for one moment, and folded her arms over her chest.

  "Your mom's really weird. She's so strict about everything. Like, get yourself together, lady, your son is his own person, ughh." She rolled her eyes, throwing her arms about in gestures, before settling for setting her palms on her hips. "Anyways, I'm glad you enjoyed them. I'm gonna return them tomorrow, but if you want me to pick up any more..."

  "No, I can't risk it, but thanks," Daniel stood up, and walked to the door, "Want me to stay and help you guys out?"

  "Wha- oh! Yeah, if you want to, man, we could use an extra hand."

  Daniel spent the afternoon hauling books in and out of rooms, pieces of furniture to and from rooms, and helping Rachel box up what she wanted to get rid of. His arms and legs were sore by the end of the day, a sort of deep muscle aching that came from hard work, but as he departed that evening he was all the more glad he spent his day with Rachel and her family. They were the kind of family he envied as equally as he loved, as they had something he knew he couldn't. They could be honest, they could open up and show their true colors. But he would always be hiding his, stuffing his colors under the blanket that he used to shroud his own thoughts, and he would feign his truths to satisfy the image his parents wanted to keep up.

  Even if they had their moments of greatness, he could only ever feel like his parents had ripped the possibility of growing up at least slightly normal from his hands. And it was too late to get it back, so now he did what he could, and he was happy when he was happy, and he let those moments saturate his interactions with them. That way, he could keep up the smile that they placed on their faces in public, and things went perfectly fine.


	45. A Tuesday in Summer

  It was not taken quietly that Daniel had defied his mother's wishes. She discovered on Sunday that Daniel had kept the Goosebumps books, and yet she said nothing to him. Not yet. Because the time was not right. There would be ample time for conversation, in the near or distant futures, about a variety of things. 

  For now, it was the first Tuesday of the Summer. Daniel spent it with Abraham, Jason, and Johnny, all crowded in the Taylor's backyard and talking about the world they wanted. The future they desired. 

  "If you don't go into music, you're losing your calling," Jason remarked with a smirk to Daniel, "you've got a talent, don't waste it here in this shithole town."

  "It isn't a shithole town," Daniel rolled his eyes, but his grin was stretched across his mouth and tied into his voice, "I think I might teach music in the future. Who knows." 

  "If I have a prodigy kid, I'll send 'em to you," Johnny took a long drink of his soda, setting the bottle aside, "but they'll probably end up working with me. I wanna do something with mechanics, get my hands dirty or something. I don't know, I can't do anything that involves sitting behind a desk all day." 

  "Nobody can see you sitting behind a desk all day." Abraham winked, fidgeting with a metal jack, twirling it between his fingers. "Work or otherwise, to be honest." 

  "I'll deck you, don't think being the preacher's kid will stop me," Johnny raised up his fist, "I've got fists and God gave 'em to me for a reason, Abey."

  It was all a joke, of course, and Abraham lurched into laughter, bending over in the middle. "God also gave you a brain, use it." He retorted. Daniel watched them in silence, his palms pressed into the grass, his cotton shirt tucked into his shorts. He could see all of them in the future as things that were great. Abraham would be the best preacher this town ever had. Johnny would be a mechanic, and if Daniel had to pick a career for Jason, it'd be a psychologist. The Taylor twins would be fixing everyone's issues, both inside and out. Daniel would be teaching people the violin, bringing them into music and showing him how wonderful the crowd's applause felt, how amazing it felt to be Apollo for a moment, just a second in time. 

  The gate swung open, and Rachel in her shorts with bruised knees and bright eyes came marching swiftly through, over to a gathering of her friends, a smile spread on her face. "I'm here, so now you can't talk trash about me behind my back." 

  " _Darn_ ," Jason snapped his fingers, "I was _just_ getting to it, oh well! There's always next time!" He watched the girl as she made her way to Daniel, bending down to rest her elbow atop his head. He looked up, but didn't move, just allowing this girl to press her elbow to the top of his skull.

  "So what're you talking about, really?"

  "What we wanna do with our lives. I'm going to be a preacher, Johnny wants to be a mechanic, Daniel's probably going to teach violin, and... Jason, what do you wanna do?" Abraham snapped his gaze to Jason, who was lounging comfortably now in the grass.

  "Whatever the wind blows to me. I like to swim, but I don't think I can make a career out of it." 

  "Sure, Olympic swimmer, we'll call you fish boy." Rachel rested her other fist on her hip, watching all of them. "But really, anything else?"

  "I don't know, maybe a programmer, I've heard good things about the video game industry lately." Jason shrugged, running fingers through his hair.

  "If you're going to be programming, can you deprogram Rachel's elbow off my head?" Daniel arched a brow. Rachel dug her elbow further into his skull in retaliation. 

  "You're my arm rest now, Danny, and arm rests don't speak." 

  "And the correct term would be _'coding'_ , could I _code_ her elbow off your head, and uh... That's a _you_ problem." Jason shifted his gaze from them, brows raised, fingergunning the two with a half-grin on his lips. The Summer was wide and spread out in front of them, and it was clear it was going to be one of change. Rachel getting her new room was just the start, and soon, more things would follow. But simple things for now, simple and fun things for the group. Daniel was going to be fourteen this August, and he could hardly believe it.

  Rachel eventually removed her elbow from Daniel's head, and took her place in the circle, amongst a chanting - started by Johnny - of _"join us, join us"_ and Jason and Abraham banging their fists on their knees in rhythm. 

  "Oh my gosh, no, I'm not joining your cult." Rachel shook her head rapidly, dark hair flying every direction. 

  "Wait, aren't cults- don't they do human sacrifices?" Daniel's eyes were slightly widened when he asked the question, and every gaze was on him.

  "Nah, that's occult. And even then it's up to the specific thing or group. Cults are religious groups, y'know, like Jonestown." 

  "Jonestown?"

  " _Drink the Kool-aid,_ that thing? Oh, right, your parents don't let you read that stuff. Okay!" Rachel clapped her hands together, a loud noise echoing out around them as she turned her eyes from person to person in the group, watching her friends shift where they sat, "Rachel's morbid interest time, Jonestown was like, this group of people who followed this preacher to South America. He told them to drink Kool-aid laced with poison so nobody could talk about the crap he did to them. Not going into detail, but Jim Jones was fucked up." 

  "That's a bit messed up, yes," Daniel's sarcasm dripped from every word, mock-enthusiasm draping over it, "I mean, sure, let's all grab a cup of poison and chug it down. Right, fun for the whole family." 

  All eyes turned to Abraham. The preacher's son, and aspiring preacher himself. He stared at his friends, lips drawn in a thin line, brow lowered.

  "No, don't even say it."

  "Say you won't ever pull a Jim Jones. Please, Abey." Rachel jokingly pleaded.

  "I'll never pull a Jim Jones, I swear! I don't have the heart to hurt someone." Abraham pressed his palm to his chest as though to prove it, brow knit. 

  "True, he's a softy." Johnny chuckled, "He's like soft serve ice cream, looks like it, too."

  Abraham ignored his comment, instead turning his gaze back to Rachel. 

  "Anyways, dudes, wanna do something? I don't think sitting and chatting about Jonestown is beneficial for my brain." Rachel stood, dusting off her shorts, resting her hands on her hips. "I'm _thinking,_ let's go grab something from the candy store, and maybe come back here and play soccer. All this talk about poison made me hungry."

  "Rachel!" Daniel exclaimed, his entire posture indicating his revulsion at the statement. Rachel folded her arms over her stomach, cackling at his reaction, her nose scrunched up and eyes shut tight. 

  "I'm kidding. But really, I've got my allowance and an unsatisfied sweet tooth, and _to be fair,_ my parents left me unsupervised." 

  Jason and Johnny were first to rise up to the offer. Abraham took some convincing, not being that fond of candy, but he decided he'd just get something small and keep it for later. Daniel came along with them, and the small group went off into town, collecting Patrick and bringing him on their expedition, filling him in on their absolutely _riveting_ conversation. He expressed the same amount of shock at Rachel's poison remark, and for that, Daniel was glad. 

  If they could see themselves down the line, and see the worlds they would make for themselves and eventually unmake, perhaps they would have been a little more sour, but for now they had sweets to bite down on and a whole Summer to joke about the world they inhabited. In time, it would be their world truly, and they could not wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't entirely satisfied with the last update, so consider this a special treat, two in one day!   
> If you are enjoying the story so far, please leave a comment, as your feedback is what keeps this work going. I look forward to hearing from everyone, since it helps motivate me to keep this going! I read every comment, and respond to at least one from everybody - if they leave multiple comments - and every time it's like a jump start to the process of working on this story.   
> Thank you all so much, and I look forward to showing where this all ends up.


	46. Blue Paint

  The next few days passed with the clouds rolling over the hills, and all was calm. Daniel and Patrick had promised Rachel they would help her paint her new room, and so taking up that promise, Daniel left his house around eleven that morning with his hands clutching the denim shirt his dad had let him borrow, tugging it over his white t shirt. He hurriedly tucked his shirt into his jeans and, when safely away from the house, ruffled up his hair with his fingers. His mother had insisted that he neaten it, keep it out of his face, and while he thought it would be nice to present himself well, he also had known Rachel since he was barely able to speak. Looking good was not a big deal to them. 

  He knocked on the door to the Willcox house, and waited for reply. He could just open the door, he'd done that before, but when he knew that there was a lot going on inside, it was best to knock. Veronica pulled the door open and looked down at the teenager with a smile on her kind face, craning her neck.

  "Rachel, Daniel's here!" She hollered back, before turning her gaze to Daniel. "How are you, Danny?" 

  "I'm good, Mrs. Willcox. It's getting awfully hot, though," He chuckled, and the two of them shared agreeing nods. Rachel bounced up with her hair tied up, the hem of her overalls rolled up to be out of the way of her shoes. She pulled Daniel inside, the house faintly smelling of bleach and paint. 

  "Do you want any lemonade, Daniel?" Veronica offered, her own darker red hair loose, curls swaying as she moved. 

  "If he drinks lemonade he's gonna have to pee, and he needs to help me move some furniture." Rachel rested her fists on her hips, a wide grin on her face. "So I think we can save lemonade for later." 

  "Alright, but don't go moving anything heavy, that's for your dad and I." Veronica watched the two with her dark, warm eyes. She had been wearing contact lenses for several months, but it was still a surprise not to see her thin-framed, round glasses on her nose. Daniel smiled at Veronica, and noticed how similar Rachel and her mother looked in this light, right down to the clothing choices. He didn't have a lot of time to think, because fairly soon, Rachel's hand was around his wrist and they were bounding up stairs and into the room that was soon to be Rachel's bedroom. 

  "I already got started on the back wall, so just pick up a roller and let's get going." Rachel told him, throwing open the door. Arthur knelt by a paint can, prying the lid off, jerking his eyes to them.

  "Oh, hey Daniel, thought I heard you were here, just getting things ready for you guys. Remember what I told you, Rachel," He said as he rose up, one hand on his hip, the other pointing at his daughter. Both of them were smirking, and Rachel rolled her eyes.

  "I won't pour the can of paint all over my friends, dad. I've got my shit together." She slapped Daniel's back playfully, resting her hand on his shoulder. He looked between Rachel and her father, and then as Arthur left, turned to her completely.

  "Don't pour paint on my head."

  "Danny, I promised dad I wouldn't. Plus, I think it'd have you feeling pretty blue." She pointed to the wall, a fresh coat of blue paint covering it's surface. The walls were already the shade of blue Rachel liked, but the paint was old, and it was time to re-touch and begin anew. Rachel picked up a paint roller, teaching Daniel how to work with them, and then the two set to work. They started on the wall that was already half-done, coating it in fresh paint. They tied plastic bags over their shoes to ensure no paint ruined them - and a good thing, since Daniel was wearing his white running shoes - letting the swish-crunch sounds of plastic under their feet accentuate the motions they made as they stepped around the room, paint dripping onto their legs and their plastic bag covered feet every now and then.

  "Hey, where's Patrick?" Rachel asked finally after a while, looking around, attaching a stick to the roller to reach high near her ceiling. 

  "I think he slept in." Daniel shrugged, "I could be wrong, though." 

  "Well, either way, I've got something for you." 

  "What?" Daniel leaned his head to the side, the soft crack bouncing in the air. Rachel swiped a finger through the paint tray, and set her roller down, a beaming grin stretched over her face. Daniel, seeing what was next, decided he was not about to go down without a fight. He grabbed the lid of a paint can, swiping his fingers through the residual bits of blue paint, and held them up.

  "Oh no, if I go down, you're going down with me."

  "Water doesn't drown fish, Danny, you don't scare me!" She cackled, racing forward to swipe blue across Daniel's cheek, over the bridge of his nose, making a broken stripe over his face. Daniel used this chance to press blue fingers into the nape of her neck, leaving paint that rubbed against the collar of her shirt. She didn't care, this shirt was old and had been subjected to many of her art projects. She and Daniel went back and forth for a while, using paint brushes and pulling bristles back, flicking paint in each other's direction, the entire house resonating with their laughter and shrieks as they rushed again and again around the room, grabbing brushes and rollers and sponges and fresh ammunition for their all out paint war. They were the generals of their own armies, facing off with blue spattered on their clothes and sticking to their skin.  
The door opened, and soon, a third party witnessed their war.

  "Hey, gosh, sorry I'm late. Slept in and I totally forgot we were painting, and-" Patrick stopped, knitting his brow, looking at his two very blue friends. "What the heck?"   
Daniel and Rachel gave each other mischievous glances, and then with a flurry of motion, they had swiped their fingers in paint from a brush and sprinted to Patrick, covering his face and shirt in blue, the other screeching the entire way. When they were done with their masterpiece, Patrick was a mess of splatter and smears, and he looked down at himself in horror. His arms were stretched out, and turning his neck, he could see paint on them, too.

  Looking up at the two criminals responsible, he grabbed a brush.

  "Don't think you're getting away with that." He dunked the brush in a can, swiping off excess on the edge in a rush, and slinging a stripe of paint across the two teenager's torsos. Daniel and Rachel both held up their arms to cover their faces, and Rachel through her laughter told them both to knock it off.

  "Come on, we gotta get painting before we run out of paint."

  She did have a point. Both boys looked at each other and nodded, grabbing rollers and brushes and continuing the work. Veronica came to check up on them later, leaning in the doorway, asking if they needed anything. She took note of the blue but said nothing, just smiled at them, and told them she was going to play some music.

  "I hope you guys like Weezer," she turned and set a stereo on a chair, plugging it into a wall plug in the hall, pressing play. _Buddy Holly_ blasted through the hall and into the room, and Rachel abandoned her brush in an instant, grabbing her mother's hand and dancing in the doorway, the two twirling but careful not to shift any of the plastic drop cloths that laid across the floor. Veronica and Rachel reflected each other in motions, and after a moment, Rachel had dragged her friends away from their task, all four screaming to the song as best they could. Rachel and Veronica by heart, and Patrick and Daniel by imitation. Their words flew out to the ceiling, and the sun shone bright into the room and the world was loud and music and laughter. It was music and barely on-key singing and everything that they felt was joy, something real and substantial in the moment. There was something in the way they existed in the moment, especially after Arthur joined in, that was all Daniel could ever want. He felt at home with all of them as they sang off-key and screamed song lyrics and swiped paint on each other. The sun was melting into their veins for a moment, and it was so kind and bright and good. 

* * *

 

  
  Hours had passed, and the room was painted. The ceiling fan was going on full blast, the windows open to help ventilate the room. Rachel and Daniel and Patrick all sat in a small circle in the middle of the room, plates with sandwiches and glasses filled with lemonade. Daniel looked between them and decided that now, now he could voice that he had a new passion.

  "I've been doing some reading on these Greek and Roman myths," Daniel said, nerves rattling in his brain, "And I think they're kinda neat. I mean, yeah, we read on them before, but I was never able to in-detail. Momma and dad still don't think I should, but I guess I'm old enough for them now."

  "You've _been_ old enough for them," Rachel shoved his arm, "but y'know, your parents are weird."

  "Anyways, so, Greek and Roman myths?" Patrick curled his fingers into the ankles of his jeans, leaning forward.

  "Did you just _'anyways'_ me?" Rachel arched her brow.

  "I mean, I guess? Sorry, it was rude-"

  "Nah," Rachel waved her hand, "You can't apologize. You have to atone now. You must atone for your crimes, Patty."

  "Oh no."

  "Oh yes!"

  "Oh no." Patrick shook his head.

 _"Oh yeah!"_ Rachel bounced up, grabbing a brush from it's resting place in a bucket of water. She stood over Patrick like a reaper, and with relish, squeezed out water on his head. Patrick heaved a sigh, his dripping burgundy hair falling in his eyes, water draining down the back of his shirt. Rachel, satisfied, set the brush back in it's place, wiped her hands on her knees, and sat back down in the circle.

  "Anyways, Danny, I think you'd like Celtic Pagan myths. Some of it is really dark. Fairies? Yeah, not good beings. Leprechauns, too, they're fucked up." 

  "How?" Daniel furrowed his brow.

  "Leprechauns eat people, if I remember. Or curse you and track down your family if you make a deal with them. Something." Rachel shrugged.

  "Wow. Who knew a pot of gold could be so much trouble." Patrick commented with an apathetic tone, but a wide smirk. "Guess nothing gold can stay." 

  "Or you keep your gold forever and kill those who get close. Anyways." Rachel, every time she said 'anyways', would now crane her neck and lean to Patrick, scrunching up her nose, using her best cartoonish evil step-mother voice. Patrick rolled his eyes, and looked to Daniel.

  "The high school is getting new computers this year, so maybe you can read up on them on there?" 

  Daniel felt the suggestion lodge itself in his brain, mail filed perfectly and carefully. "Yeah, I think that'd help."

  "Alright kids, I'm getting antsy, I wanna do something other than sit here." Rachel rose, picking up her plate and glass. "We can go dig around in the park for treasure, but that might get us arrested. Oh well."

  "Let's avoid arrest, Rachel." Daniel picked his plate and glass up as well, followed by Patrick. "We can go and try piecing together some of your new furniture." 

  "We need to bring the parts in here. And even then, dad won't let me use power tools. Something about screwing my hand to a dresser." 

  "Then we'll use your mom's power tools." Patrick suggested. "Loop hole!"

  "Mom has the same rule. But we can get dad to do it, since mom's working on some stuff for her job." Rachel and her boys marched down the stairs, cleaning off their dishes and setting them in the sink, and once they got Arthur on board, pieced together some pieces of furniture in the center of the room. They would need to be moved later, once the paint had fully dried, but it was best to get some of it done now than to wait until later. The coat of paint had been just to freshen up, to make everything feel new and exciting, and it was certainly doing it's job.

  Later that afternoon, when the sun spilled orange gold, Veronica came into the room with burning sage. "It'll just help clear the air," She told the kids as she moved it about the room, the smell unmistakable and warm, pulling the world into it's own neat package for them. The scent stuck to their clothes, added to when she burned rosemary for the scent, and soon all of them smelled of herbs and paint and excitement. Daniel and Patrick left when the sun was curving against the trees, waving goodbye to Rachel and parting ways, and as Daniel stood on his front porch and stared at the neighborhood around him, he was glad he had been raised in Cain, Georgia. Because right here, right now, he was meant to be in this moment. And he was meant to know these people. And he loved them more than he could say, and knew he would never be able to survive without them. That was his gospel, and he would know it by heart not only now, but in the future, when the world burdened all their spines and he sat alone with his head in a notebook that would rewrite the way he lived.

  Daniel was thirteen, covered in blue paint, and well aware that he loved his friends more than he could ever say.


	47. Feel It Ache

  Disobedience was still a serious offense. 

  Daniel was seated in the living room with his parents. Mother and father across from him, quiet ticking of a clock hanging on the wall, and the kitchen chairs his parents sat in squeaking vaguely every now and then. 

  "So, we know you kept those books we told you to return."

  Sarah Jolene's painted red lips were tight, her elbows resting on her knees, posture almost mimicking his father's. He stared across at them and he swallowed, but his throat was taut and he was like the strings of a guitar, tuned too tightly, threatening to snap and bleed the musician's fingers any moment. 

  "They're just _stories,_ momma," He stammered, "and fiction's just fiction." 

  These were the wrong words to say, but of course, he said them anyways.

  "They're not- gosh, Daniel, they're not _just_ stories. Don't you know books are a weapon?" Sarah Jolene sounded almost offended that her son didn't know. And Daniel shook his head. "God put the media in our lives to spread His word, but the devil-"

  She cut herself off, sighing, shaking her head. "What I mean to say, is that you're exposing yourself to things that'll only breed sin. And to top it all off, you disobeyed us, which is a big deal all in itself."

  "How?" 

  Daniel had never pressed before. It alarmed all three, and he realized he was going to get a reaction. "How is it a big deal? Does God think I shouldn't have stories I enjoy?"

  "It doesn't-" She rubbed the bridge of her nose, "Okay. I understand. You're a teenager, Daniel, you're bound to disobey and rebel. But horror doesn't glorify God. In fact, in many cases it can drive people _away_ from God. It's not good, it's not holy, and since it's not of God, we shouldn't want it." 

  "Why? Didn't God give us this stuff to be enjoyed?" He sounded confident but there was an internal trembling, the very quaking of Revelations and the earthquakes. He watched his mother's expression go from understanding to mortified to agitated and all the shades it took, all the hues. Then it looked deflated, and her shoulders drooped.

  "Daniel," she lowered her voice and leaned forward, "You are aware of Revelations and the End Times, right?"

  Daniel sat quietly, thinking back to all of his years of Sunday School and Vacation Bible School. Revelations was not touched on early, but then it moved into conversations about being Saved, being Baptized. It became a story that progressed from an event to a fire and brimstone reality. All the good Christians would be saved, all those who believed and were born again would be spared the suffering of the End Times. The anxiety lapped against him, tidal waves and their moon swept ways. He could sense it building behind his mind, but he subdued it as much as possible.

  "Yeah?"

  "Do you know about the age of acceptance?"

  Yes. He did. Nobody knew what the age of acceptance exactly was, as in the age it ended, but they knew that it meant any child regardless of their religion could go to Heaven if they died. Daniel knew where this was going.

  "Yes."

  "We figured you were under the age of acceptance when you had your... _Experience,_ " they all felt a chill but said nothing, "but now that you're a teenager, we're not so sure. And that means that, were something to happen and you didn't come back, we don't know where you'd go." 

  Heaven or hell and their reflections in Sarah's eyes. She was begging without begging. She was clear without too much emotion. Daniel could see in her face that this pained her, somewhere deep down it truly pained her to face this music, but it was music they faced nonetheless. Daniel shifted on the couch, and then after running his fingers through his hair, looked to his mother and father once more. 

  "Momma, you know what I didn't- what I saw, or didn't see. I don't know how to process that as anything but not being... Not being real, not-"

  "Daniel," Her voice cut like a knife, "You can't just say that. That is a line you do _not_ want to cross." Dangerous and sharp and low, she narrowed her gaze at him. 

  "Sarah," Gideon's voice was quiet, the way clouds roll over hills in somber processions. Then, he looked to Daniel, and in the same tone spoke, " _But these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name._ John 20:31." He paused for a moment, a meditative second in time with underlying tremor, "What this means, what this verse means, is that if you believe Jesus is the Messiah and is God's son, you'll have an eternal life beyond this one. Do you wanna see dark for all eternity? Do you want to die and see nothing but dark, or worse, be tortured in the pits of hell?"

  Daniel was shaking, trying to hide it by bouncing his foot rapidly. "No." He didn't believe in hell, couldn't they get it? Why weren't they listening to him?

  "Then you should know that if you don't accept Salvation, if you don't go to God and repent for your ways," Gideon inhaled, adjusted his glasses, and folded his arms over his chest as he leaned back in the chair, "well, we know what'll happen. _We_ know where _we're_ going, but do you?" 

  Daniel rose abruptly to his feet. _"Stop."_ His fists were balled at his sides and he couldn't catch his breath correctly, voice creaking like a rusty gate, "Just _stop!_ I get it, you won't listen to me, but gosh, it's just a stupid book series! Why are you guys doing this over a stupid book series?" 

  "Because one day it _won't_ be a stupid book series," Sarah spoke, "it'll be a drug, or a girl. It'll be money and power, envy and greed and pride, all the deadly sins. You know, the bigger they are..."

  He didn't stay to hear the rest of her sentence. Daniel turned on his heel and speed walked out the door, shutting it tight and pressing his back to the wall, clamping his hand over his mouth. His face was hot and his eyes were threatening to spill over. _He couldn't breathe he couldn't get it together he couldn't he couldn't he-_

  The blond slumped over and let himself slide down the surface of the wall, crouching there on the porch with the wind rustling the neighbor's wind chimes and the world still stinging in the heat of May. He was horribly tired from the exchange but there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say, no one to talk to-

  Wait.

  There was one person.

  He dried his eyes quickly on his shirt, and took a few moments to control his breathing. He was going to be okay. He didn't even believe in what they had been telling him. But he also wanted confirmation, that he wasn't going to darkness again, was not destined for oblivion like they described. 

  There was only one person he could talk to about this, so even though his face and ears were flushed and his eyes were still red and puffy, he would not waste any more time. He would talk, and he would be listened to. 

  And to think, this all started because of a few copies of Goosebumps.


	48. Righteousness

  Abraham's house was only a short walk from his own. Daniel stood on the front porch, a deep sky blue door before him, wooden with a small rectangular window near the top. He wished he was tall enough to look through, to know who was going to answer the door so he could prepare an excuse or explanation. He took a deep breath - he felt like a thief, stealing it from the porch of a holy man - and tapped his knuckles a decent few times on it's surface. He wished it burned him. At least then that would give his parents something substantial to work with. He felt evil not believing in them anymore, or believing the system they had raised him within, but he couldn't if he tried.

  He almost collapsed in relief when it was Abraham who opened the door, his nimble fingers gripping the doorknob. The forest-eyed boy stared at Daniel curiously for a moment, instantly spotting the red of his eyes and the flush spread across his face. The preacher's son folded his arms over his chest, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. 

  "Abey, who's at the door?" His mother called from another room, the study off to the left, a room Daniel remembered as deep blue and warm. Abraham's mother was a woman with light brown hair, bordering on blonde, and the same mindset as his father on almost everything but in a much quieter fashion, as was expected out of their fundamentalist system. It almost infuriated him, how she would let her husband rant and rave for hours and be expected to agree, but he knew in her heart that she did agree, and in his brain it was a fact.

  "No one, mom." He hollered back, and Daniel was swept into relief. He knew that his mother disapproved of him. Abraham walked into the study for a few minutes, talking to his mother, and returning while twirling a metal jack between his fingers. He led Daniel out, shutting the door. The two walked a few paces around the house, then silent like thieves through the back door, and up the stairs to Abraham's room. 

  Once the door clicked shut and they were alone, Abraham gestured for Daniel to sit on his bed. He joined him, and in the room Daniel had visited for so many years, he felt like a stranger. Abraham's parents had never quite forgiven Daniel for his statements on his Near Death Experience, as though it were a sin that could not be washed from his hands. 

  "You look stressed, Danny." Abraham observed, his voice quiet as he brought the other's hand into his own, thumb rubbing against Daniel's knuckles. Abraham was unabashedly affectionate, none of the lessons of his peers in how it made him seem ever really stuck. Daniel was glad for this. He leaned his head on the other blond's shoulder, and closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't know how to explain this. How could he explain what he was going through to a future minister? Gosh, but he had to try. 

  "My parents got pissed at me over those books, the Goosebumps ones? Yeah, they... Well, they had a bit of a meeting in the living room with me." Daniel explained, but it wasn't enough, Abraham's confused look was indicator that it wasn't enough. He worried at his lip momentarily. Inhale. Hold. "They told me that these books, they're not of God. They don't glorify Him, so they must be evil. Dad quoted some scripture, and momma told me that they don't know where I'm going if I die. It's- well, it's scary. Because I know what I saw, and then they told me that they think that's where I'll go if I don't repent or something, I don't know, Abey, I think I stopped being in the same room mentally by that point." The cracks in his voice were like concrete broken up by a jackhammer. Fragmented, meaningful enough to show that something was happening. Abraham was struck dumb silent, and Daniel thought - and feared - he was going to side with them.

  "Danny?" His voice was a dangerous low, something Daniel had never heard of the boy. 

  "Yes?"

  "Your parents... Forgive me, your parents are _idiots. Gosh._ Oh my _gosh._ " The exasperation in the other's voice was loud, and Daniel almost felt safe in it. 

  "What... I mean, they believe what your dad says." Daniel was more confused than before, furrowing his brow, staring as Abraham got up and paced his bedroom, frustration all over his face.

  "No, no, my dad doesn't _care_ if I read Goosebumps. Yeah, he doesn't _like_ it, but it doesn't mean- oh my gosh, they think a children's fiction book is going to send you to hell." He gave a dry laugh, palm dragging down his nose. "Sorry, I'm processing this, please bear with me."

  "No, no, I am, too. I know it probably sounds..."

  "No, you're fine, Danny. You're right to be upset." He turned quickly on his heel to Daniel, staring at his friend, palms splayed out as though shoving down something very gently. "I need to just... Okay, what verse did your dad cite?" 

  "Um... John- uh, John 20:31." 

  Abraham turned back to a bookcase, grabbing his Bible - filled with various sheets of paper of notes he'd scribbled over the years - and flipping through it at rapid speeds. He found the verse. He read it, and the verses around it. The boy with wedding veil white hair looked at Daniel, lips in a line, eyes wide, brows high. There was a mild red to his cheeks. 

  "Oh _wow._ Danny, you want to know the context?"

  "Please."

  "This is an Easter verse. The Resurrection, here, let me just read this to you because- oh, _wow._ " Abraham's voice was overflowing with his disbelief in how the verse had been twisted, but then again, he knew his father had a tendency to do the same thing. He sat down on the bed next to Daniel, held the Bible so the other could read, and spoke clearly. " _Jesus performed many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not recorded in this book. But these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name._ John 20:30 - 31. Danny, this is a verse of hope, and your dad went and- and contorted it to make you feel guilty. I'm sorry- _no,_ I'm not. I'm not sorry, but that's _not_ okay." 

  Daniel had never seen or heard such righteous anger from Abraham. He was usually so quiet and so reserved, and even though he spoke softly, there was wrath in him that Daniel had never known. He swallowed and watched as Abraham got up, and began to read further, eyes rapidly scanning the pages, before he shut the Bible and set it on his bookshelf, and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

  "Let me try to... I know you don't believe, and I love you, but I want to explain as best I can. Sure, there's Heaven and Hell, but Jesus loves everyone, no matter what they believe. No matter what they read. And a few children's stories are not going to bring sin into your home. If they do, you've got bigger issues than the story, that means it was already present." 

  "Abey-"

  "And my _gosh,_ your parents sitting you down and using one of the worst things of your life to make you feel fear? And bringing the End Times into it? That's not okay to any degree."

  "Abey."

  "Gosh- yeah?" 

  Daniel rose very slowly, and he watched the other stand as still as a statue. The ghost of Cain was a poltergeist, ransacking the misused verses and returning them to context, destroying pillars of hatred and turning them to love in the same breath, he was powerful and he was true and he was wild-eyed. Daniel had not seen this side of Abraham before. He had never gotten to. But now he did, and now he realized that this boy was much more powerful in his convictions than in anything else.

  "Can you tell me why they might use Revelations on me?"

  Abraham exhaled, pressing his palm over his mouth, one hand on his hip. "Yeah," He said, removing his hand, "I can. Revelations is about the end of the world. fundamentalists - y'know, _us_ \- believe that it's imminent and that it'll be any day now. Scary, I know, but we also believe that... Well, we won't go through it. Non-believers will be left to deal with it. But that's just one viewpoint, and the fact they're pulling Revelations on you isn't... I don't know, Danny, I don't know. It's not right, over a series of stupid books." 

  Daniel nodded, and it was as though he was six years old and hearing their pastor preach with the strength and conviction that swayed everyone. Daniel felt like for a moment, just one, he saw God's judgement in this boy, like he was something more. And it was almost enough to make him want to believe again, but nothing could change him, nothing could transform how he had become. So he very slowly brought Abraham back to the bed, and the two sat there, Daniel's head resting on Abraham's shoulder and Abraham resting his head against the other's. They talked quietly for a while, the two boys calming down with discussions of high school and plans they had. Daniel didn't know exactly what he wanted to be, and Abraham told him he always had a place with him, whether or not he believed.

  "Jesus was friends with all sorts of people," he explained, "so why shouldn't I be?" 

  Daniel agreed. This was the kind of love that he could understand as truly good, truly holy. After a while of talking, Daniel snuck out the back door again, walking home and waiting outside. He didn't want to go inside, but he had to. After all, he lived here.

  He waited longer, looking around, thinking about leaving and staying the night at Patrick's or Rachel's house. He could, he knew he had a place with them as well. But no, no matter how bitter the music he had to face, he would face it with some dignity. He needed to, after all, especially when he knew there was nothing he could really do.

  Daniel wrapped his fingers around the doorknob, twisting, twisting, and opening the way into the house, shutting it behind him. He was now in the lion's den, and no stranger to it's ways. Just be docile and tame, and there would be no consequence.

  Four more years, he told himself, four more years, and he could be on his own. 

  And eleven more, he would be entirely alone with nothing but his deeds to accompany him.


	49. A Continuation

  It was being absorbed by the house. Not entering it, being taken by it and brought through. That was how it was when Daniel returned home, and his veins were tense and his head was reverberating with Abraham's words, the sentences bouncing off his skull like a pong ball. The quiet was something he had both hoped and dreaded. His parents had gone off to their own parts of the house, Gideon's study and Sarah's seat in the living room, a cigarette leaning in the crux between her fingers, red stains across the filter capturing the ridges and plateaus of her lips. She very seldom smoked, but today seemed a day for the house to stink of tobacco. So Daniel left her alone, creeping up the stairs to his room. She watched. She did nothing, just took another drag, and blew out grey-white. 

  Daniel's footsteps caught his father's attention, however. And he saw his father, peering at him through his glasses. Daniel's blood froze, and for a moment he paused at the top of the stairs.

  "Where did you run off to?"

  He swallowed. "Went for a walk." He lied, mentally cursing himself. Lying was no beneficial act for anyone. He just kept it together, and as Gideon approached, he tried not to tell him exactly where he was and what he discussed and how much more he didn't believe his parents. The way Gideon approached was with slow movements. "I'm gonna go work on my summer reading," Daniel tried to turn, but his father's hand rested on his shoulder now.

  "Son, your mother and I talked, and we think it'd be best if you start going to youth group." 

  _Youth group._ It sent a shudder up Daniel's spine. He would very much rather not go to youth group, but if his parents were set on it, there was no other option. He had attended the regular service on Wednesday evenings like his parents had, but now they were sending him off, to spend the time with other teenagers and a youth minister in a circle like they were in an AA meeting. He did not look forward to it. 

  But he knew he couldn't avoid it or turn down the statement. He would be going to youth group now. It was a fact of life. The only thing that made it decently okay was that he knew Abraham went to youth group, so he'd know one person there. Other than that, he had very low expectations.

  He only nodded, said a quick agreement, and went back down the stairs and out the house. 

* * *

  
  "Youth group? What the hell." 

  Rachel sat across from him at her dining table, grape Kool-aid in her glass, pink lemonade in his own. He shrugged.

  "Yeah, momma and dad want me to go to youth group now."

  He had finished relaying the story of his day - from the argument, to the consolation of Abraham's words, to the news - and now Rachel was just as dumbfounded as he figured she would be. He watched her take a long drink from her glass, purple staining the edges of her mouth. She wiped it on her arm, and for a moment was quiet, then she grinned. 

  "Dad," she turned to look at her father, who was drying and putting dishes away, "I wanna go to youth group."

  "What?" He furrowed his brow, " _You_ want to go to youth group?" He repeated. He knew his daughter was not exactly the most spiritual girl, he couldn't envision her ever becoming a religious leader, so this seemed to come out of thin air.

  "Daniel's parents are forcing him to go. He could use the support."

  There was a pause, and Arthur nodded knowingly. "Alright. I'll take you, then. But don't start a fire in the church, we don't need arson on your record so young." He joked, a grin wide on his face. Rachel laughed, rolling her eyes.

  "Aw, damn. I wanted to set Brother White's office on fire."

  "Don't we all, Rachel, don't we all." Arthur went back to drying dishes, and Daniel glanced between the two of them with incredulity.

  "So, you guys don't like Brother White, either?"

  "He's an asshole, Danny." 

  "Rachel, what did I say about name calling?" Arthur piped up.

  "Okay, you said to only say it if it's true, and it is. So you can't really say anything about it."

  Arthur whistled like he hadn't heard her, a tune carried in high notes. Then he spoke up, "Yes, but he is also our local pastor." 

  "Abey will be a better pastor than him." Rachel replied, her elbow pressing into the table. 

  "Yeah, he will, I think. But for now, his dad's in charge."

  "His dad can go-"

  " _Rachel._ " Arthur warned, setting a dish down. Rachel heaved a dramatic sigh, and then turned back to Daniel.

  "So, youth group on Wednesday evenings, sound's fun." She smirked. "And if we're lucky, nobody will think we're there."

  "I guess." Daniel retreated, head pressing back, shoulders arching, "I just wish my parents wouldn't keep trying."

  "They're your parents, Daniel. They'll keep trying no matter what, since you're their only son. Even though their cause seems to be pretty much to indoctrinate you beyond belief." Arthur observed, turning to face the kids, pressing his palms into the edge of the counter.

  "Even though they know I don't... Well, yeah, I don't really want to be part of their church."

  "I don't blame you. I was raised Catholic, so it's not like I'm too thrilled about the Southern Baptist Church either. But, I _did_ marry Veronica, and I do love her." His voice took on a dreamy quality, airy and light, eyes gazing at the ceiling. "And even though she's not really Southern Baptist, it's just how it is around here. Gosh, the things you'll do for love, kiddos." 

  The two of them laughed, watching as Rachel's father finished setting dishes away. He ruffled his daughter's hair and left the kitchen, telling them to be good, and then the two turned to each other.

  "I want to be _that_ in love one day." Rachel breathed. "He's always doting on mom, and mom's doing the same all the time, too." 

  "It's sweet," Daniel stated, "really sweet." He had never known a couple more in love than Veronica and Arthur, and seeing the way they spoke and the way they acted when they thought about the other was something more uplifting than the wings of an angel sweeping him up off the ground. The world felt warm when he could see the love in their eyes. It was wonder, and Daniel wondered why his parents never showed the same kind of love for each other.


	50. Freedom or Die Trying

  It wasn't that they didn't love each other. Circumstances had built around their lives, built them up and apart and made their worlds feel as separate as windows in a Cathedral, opposite sides, painted and fading in lights. Painted with martyrs; attempts at reconciliation and reviving what was once had.

  The weeks and weeks and hours all seemed to pass with mundanity. This summer was not an especially important one. Daniel witnessed the metamorphosis of his friends from their middle school selves into what would become their selves through high school, and saw the passing of each gold sun. He practiced violin diligently, gently letting out the music contained in the strings. He would sit in youth group with Rachel and Abraham, and they would listen to the youth minister and his sermons for them, lessons for teen life. It was all very boring, to put it simply. The youth minister had a droning drawl of a voice, dull like the clanging of bells. He wore dull colors even more dampened by the pale of the lights in the small room, where chairs were arranged in a circle, exactly as Daniel had expected. Each person had a notebook and was instructed to write down their thoughts throughout the evenings.

  Daniel's was blank, had been blank for weeks.

  Rachel scrawled out a quick note, and snickering, slid it in her lap and bumped Daniel's arm with her elbow. He scanned his eyes across her writing.

  _'THIS IS SO BORING'_

 All caps, and in Rachel's naturally scratchy handwriting. Daniel grinned and scribbled something in his own notebook.

_'Kill me again, please!'_

  Rachel flashed him a wide smirk.

_'TWO TALL ORDERS OF DEATH, COMING RIGHT UP!'_

  It took all their strength not to break down cackling, but they managed. Well, they did, until Abraham slid his notebook into Daniel's view.

_'Been reading your notes. Can I order a tall glass of death and chug it, too?'_

  That was too much. Abraham, the preacher's son, clearly bored to the bone of this sermon on... What was it on, again? They had stopped listening long ago.

  Well, everyone else was listening now. To Rachel's squeak, to Daniel's cut-off beginning of a laugh, and to the way Abraham closed his notebook, clearly embarrassed, flush coating his face.

  "Abraham, Rachel, _Daniel,_ would you care to tell us what's so funny?" The youth minister peered at them, his head lowered, looking at them through his eyebrows. The name 'Daniel' left his lips like the scorch of a reprimand, and Rachel bolted up out of her seat, notebook clattering to the floor.

  "Hey, don't treat us like that! We're good kids, we just have to be here."

  "Rachel, please," Abraham whispered, "not here, don't get up on your soapbox in youth group."

  Too late. Rachel had been building up pressure like a jar, every little scornful eye and every little whisper behind her friend's back. Everything was exhausting, the way nobody seemed to realize they had been caught with their remarks on their mouths. Rachel had always been taught to stand up for people, so stand up she very literally did.

  "Yeah, I'll get up on my soapbox!" Rachel stepped one foot up onto her chair, then the other, raising her fist high enough it almost brushed the ceiling. "We've been here for weeks, Danny and I, and every one of you looks at him like he's done something almost _Dahmer-like._ You people act like he's got leprosy!"

  "Oh Heaven please, she's getting up on her soapbox, _please_ help her," Abraham silently prayed, clasping his hands together in front of his face. Daniel retreated into his chair, as though trying to disappear into it's wooden frame.

  "Listen up, Daniel's a good kid, _I'm_ a good kid, and you guys look at us like we're gonna commit a _murder_ or something. What's the deal? God loves everyone, right, Abey?"

  Abraham looked up, mortified she would bring him into this. "...Yeah, God loves everyone."

  "So you guys excluding us from that 'everyone' is heresy!"

  "Rachel, please, this isn't the place." Daniel was now begging her to stop. He cleared his throat, addressing the group. "I'm sorry for her, I know you guys don't like me, and I _don't_ want to be here, but my parents are making me come in order to... I don't know, repent." He shrugged, his expression beckoning their forgiveness. Rachel, looking around at all of the other people in the room, slowly sat down in her chair.

  "Just so you know, Jesus happened to _like_ people with leprosy."

  Too late for repentance. The youth minister was stepping out, talking to someone. The entire class knew at that moment that they were in trouble. They were then told in an ice-chill breath that they would need to see Brother White after church.

  Rachel rolled her eyes. Daniel's blood froze. Abraham's heart lurched into his throat, and his pulse pounded. He fiddled with the metallic jacks from his pocket and tried to calm himself down. Gosh. No. No. Gosh.

  Then it happened, almost as though the idea popped into everyone's heads at once. It was Rachel who acted first, naturally, pulling open a window at the back of the room. They were on the first floor. The heat of a Georgia summer night, complete with the humidity and the bugs, greeted them. She shoved one leg out, then the other.

  "Oh mercy, is she actually leaving?" Abraham asked in a bewildered whisper. This was outrageous, even for Rachel, and everyone could sense this was out of their norm. Daniel looked at Abraham, took his wrist, and brought him up.

  "If someone doesn't stop her, she'll probably run all the way to Savannah." Daniel rolled his eyes, but gave Abraham a grin. Abraham swallowed.

  "My father is going to _kill_ me."

  His father could wait. Within a few moments, the boys were outside, blazing through the grass into the trees and into town, their eyes darting back behind them, watching the church disappear into the distance. Rachel was whooping and hollering louder than they had heard before, laughter punctuating every inch of her voice. The world was whipping in their ears and even through the panic and the anxiety, they were free for a moment.

  They were in town within five minutes, lungs burning and chests beating with hearts fluttering. Collapsing on the sidewalk, the three sat with wild grins on their faces, hair swept and unkempt from the wind and the speed and the absolute ecstasy of their run.

  "My father really is going to kill me." Abraham mumbled, but he was smiling, he didn't mind. He practically glowed under the street lamp, orange saturating his skin and his hair and his clothes.

  "Who gives a shit? Your dad's a jerk." Rachel slapped his back with a wide smirk.

  "He is," Abraham agreed, "but he's also our pastor, and don't you forget, my dad."

  "So? Big fuckin' deal!" Rachel exclaimed, "He can't control your life, who you are, what you do, so who cares!"

  "Rachel, you're aware our families are probably out looking for us." Daniel said, and even though his voice was still giddy and bright, there was a tired note to it, resigned that they would be heading home soon. Rachel heaved a wildly overdramatic sigh, shoulders lifting and dropping like weights.

  "I know, but come on, let's just enjoy like, ten minutes away from them."

  So they did. They walked through the town, cars passing them by without a care in the world, the moon swimming in the stars above, the bright fluorescents of stores and diners and restaurants and little florist shops illuminating them. Angels among the world, angels come down, one a saint, one a sinner, one a heretic burning as he walked. The world felt like it was theirs and solid gold, and they stole all the chance for reprimand from the hands of the ones above them. The three stepped into a convenience store, wandering up and down aisles, playing with whatever they could grab. Anxiety melted off their bodies and was as discarded as an old coat in the corner, and they made merry with the toys in the kid's aisles and the fashion and everything they could grab. They were being wild for once, being open and excitable and punching the system in the face by existing as completely as they could.

  They didn't get far going home, though.

  " _Daniel Joseph Hubbard,_ what the _hell_ has gotten into you?!"

  Sarah stood, her voice shrill as she brought her son over by his shoulder.

  "You're in big, _big_ trouble, oh, _just you wait._ Leaving the church like that, running off like that- gosh, what if something happened? You're grounded, y'hear? _Grounded._ "

  Daniel looked at his mother as her words washed over him and he felt utterly alone for a moment, until Rachel shoved her hand in his own, and looked at Sarah. "It's my fault," she admitted, but not with a hint of guilt, "I was pissed at people treating Danny like he's any different than them, and I left because I knew we were in trouble. And I guess they felt like they had to follow me." She finished. She was in no way repenting. Explaining, more so, and Sarah wasn't having it.

  "You better believe you're in trouble too, missy. You're dragging my son and Brother White's son to hell with you!"

  "You think my daughter's going to hell?" Veronica repeated, stepping into frame. She had spotted from her car the chastisement of her child and Daniel, and decided it was best to face it.

  "If she don't clean up her act."

  "Oh, please. You were no better." Veronica rolled her eyes, hands on her hips, "Don't think I don't know 'bout the bonfires and booze you were havin' every weekend in high school. You wanna get onto my daughter? Fine, but know you're a huge hypocrite."

  "But this is- this is different, _they left church-_ " Sarah spluttered.

  "I'm not defending that, Joley. I'm sayin' before you call someone a sinner, you best look in the mirror."

  Gideon stepped out of the car, moving to his wife's side. He gave Daniel a stern glare, a 'we'll talk about this later' glare, and Daniel backed to the doors of the convenience store.

  He looked down to see Abraham huddled down, sandwiched between the wall of the store and the ice cooler. He was staring up at all that was going on, a tremor through his frame. "Abey?" Daniel whispered, "Abey, are you okay?"

  "I- um, yeah- I'm- gosh-" Abraham was unable to get his words right, his voice softer and higher. His pulse was racing and the world felt too fast, his throat felt too tight, his head was light and gosh, it was all fading and he couldn't process it all but noise and anger and wrath and gosh his father was going to kill him and-

  "Abraham," it was Veronica now, and he hated the attention the eyes locking on him and he stood on wobbly knees and- "Hey, come on over here."

  He joined them, Daniel's arm around his shoulder. Veronica brought the kids into her arms, Rachel clinging to her mom. "Hey, we're just glad you kids are okay. Don't do anything like that again, alright? Your parents are worried sick, Abey. We'll take you home if you'd like."

  He swallowed. "Thanks, Mrs. Willcox, uh- sure."

  Rachel beamed at her mother. "Can he stay the night?"

  "No, you're grounded, no friends coming over when you're grounded."

  Rachel snapped her fingers. "Damn."

  Sarah and Gideon were already climbing into the car, Daniel following. He waved at his friends one last time, ducked his head, and was driven off to the night.

* * *

 

  He was definitely grounded. He went to his room, exhausted, and fell onto his bed.

  Downstairs, Sarah - against her better judgement - poured she and her husband glasses of whiskey. They sat in the living room, hesitating for a moment, before Sarah downed a gulp from her glass. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, pressing her palms to the sides of her face, shaking her head.

  "I don't know what... I... Gosh, I've tried. I've _tried,_ again and _again,_ but he still keeps _doin'_ these things. And that girl is dragging him around with her, and- gosh," she breathed, taking another drink. "It's hard, it's terrible. I want him to grow up well, I want Daniel to be a good man when he's older, but the way things are going, it doesn't look that way, I'm scared and I just want him to listen to us."

  "I know," Gideon nodded, taking a drink from his glass, wrapping an arm around his wife. "I know. I want him to do something with his life when he's older."

  "Am I a bad person? Am I a bad _mother?_ " She posed the question, and Gideon hesitated. Softer, now, " _...Am I?_ "

  "No." Gideon said flatly, "No, you're not a bad mother. He's just caught up in things he don't understand at his age. We didn't wanna go to church either, remember?"

  "I do." Sarah rolled her eyes and released a dry laugh. "I remember. I used to skip it as much as I could."

  "And his situation is complicated, he's seen things, we can't forget that."

  "We drink to forget, but we can't." Sarah joked. Then she looked at her husband, who took a long drink. "What are you trying to forget tonight?"

  "Everything." He paused. "Well, everything, except you."

  "You're awful." She laughed and it sounded genuine, and he pulled her closer, her head leaning on his shoulder. They had been together for so long, and even if cliffs formed between them, somehow it all leveled out and they were back again. It wasn't that they didn't love each other, after all. The world had some weird way of tying them together, pulling them tight with strings cutting into their skin and bleeding out their hate. Just for a minute. Just for long enough.


	51. Captivity

  The three were grounded for varying amounts of time. Rachel's parents decided a week was sufficient, since she lived and breathed summer activity, and without anything to do around the house, she'd likely lose her mind. She was assigned extra chores to keep her busy, and so Rachel put a positive spin on her position. Abraham was grounded for a week and a half, his parents deciding that it was all Rachel and Daniel's fault anyways, but that he still should not have left. He spent his time reading, playing with his jacks, keeping himself occupied. Daniel was grounded for two weeks. 

  And it wasn't the best two weeks.

  He spent his time helping out with household chores, but being inside meant that he had nothing much to do. He didn't enjoy most of the shows on TV anymore, and being grounded, wasn't allowed to watch it. He mainly spent time in his father's study, reading books that he was starting to understand much more. 

  During this time, his father gave him some assigned reading. It was four days into the grounding, and while Gideon analyzed a legal case on his computer, he watched his son sprawled out in the floor, a book in his hands, one of the older ones from the shelf.

  "Bored?" He piped up, arching a brow. Daniel turned his gaze to his father, nodding. Gideon rose up, and within a few minutes was plucking books from the shelves, thin ones, large ones, ones older than Daniel, and setting them on the floor beside his son. He sat down with him, propping one on his knee and opening it. "I think it would do you some good to read these. I know you've got your own opinions now, but if you don't make 'em educated, you can't defend 'em." 

  Daniel sat up, pulling one of the books into his own lap. _'Learn The Bible in 24 Hours'_ by Chuck Missler.

  He frowned.

  "Dad-"

  "No, Daniel, I think you really need to read these. You're old enough to get 'em. Take your time." 

  And with that, Gideon got up and went back to his computer, typing in a Word document the various notes he'd present to the attorney tomorrow on the case they were currently working. Daniel watched his father, the way fine lines were forming at the edges of his eyes, and the way he constantly carried himself as though he were just waking up, exhausted and barely there. His beige vest and mocha tie were remnants of his work day, he hadn't yet rested enough to remove them. Daniel turned his attention back to the book in his hands, and realized he didn't have a choice. Four books to read in the two weeks. And he knew that this likely wouldn't be the only four he'd be given, if his father decided he needed further reading. 

  To say the least, they bored him to the point he was considering not reading them at all. Until, of course, his father would quiz him on the books at random intervals of the day. What chapter was he on? What did the author talk about? It was part of daily conversation with Daniel and his father. He had adjusted, and read as much as he could. Best to get them over with.

* * *

 

  One afternoon he saw Rachel leave her house, whooping and hollering about her freedom, kicking up dirt. The first thing she did, as far as he could see, was track down Patrick and get him involved with a game or two. He'd watch them from his window, and wave occasionally. 

* * *

  
  When his freedom came, he didn't bolt out the door. He was slow to ask at breakfast, looking up from the empty bowl. 

  "Can I go outside?" 

  His mother, cleaning the dishes already in the sink, turned to him. After a moment, she shrugged.

  "Your time is up, get dressed and go ahead." She said, and within minutes he was throwing on clothes and hurrying out, the summer sun stinging his skin at first. Then he took in a breath, took a moment, and walked from their porch, down the driveway, down to the street. He could see Rachel and Patrick waiting for him across the road, their grins wider than their faces could hold. 

  "You're out!! You're out!!" Rachel chanted, grabbing his hands and spinning him around for a few steps. He pulled his hands from hers when he got too dizzy, and nodded.

  "Yeah, but I think my brain is fried. I had to read some books my dad gave me. All of them were Bible books, mostly by this one guy, though."

  "Oh boy."

  "Oh boy, indeed." Daniel frowned. He looked at Patrick and smiled, and the other returned it. 

  "Any of you guys wanna go to town? I'm bored." Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets, and Rachel nodded. Daniel decided he'd go with them, and so the three set off, walking to town and taking in the day, stepping in and out of small shops to look at the things on display, enjoying their time together after two weeks apart. Their summer was going to end in a few months, and they didn't want to waste any more time enjoying it.


	52. Better

  "You gave him Chuck Missler?" 

  Sarah held one of the books in her hand, wearing a look of bewilderment like she'd wear her pearls.

  "He needs to learn, he's goin' on the assumption everything we say is wrong. Those books are good resources, Joley," Gideon sipped his coffee, and Sarah pretended he hadn't poured a shot of whiskey in it. 

  "Yeah, do you think he can process that information, though?" She sat down at the table, still frowning, but her expression was softening. Her lips had the faintest tint of red from her tinted balm, a casual look considering her usual desire for glamour. 

  "I think he's old enough." Gideon shrugged. A moment of quiet between them felt cold, and he exhaled, "Sarah, love, he's a teenager. I know he's our son, but I think we need to give him more credit. He's not dumb, we've made sure of that." He soothed. Sarah pressed her face into her palm, nodding. She brushed her fingers through her hair, then pulled it back and rested her hand on the table. He brushed her knuckles, and they sat comfortably. 

  "Do you think he hates us for it?" She asked, quieter now. 

  "I think he's confused." 

  "He... When he _came back,_ he said he didn't see _anything,_ and that's... I won't lie and say it doesn't bother me."

  "I know, it bothers me, too. But we're doing our best, ain't that true?" 

  She nodded, "Yeah." She smiled at her husband, then stood and picked up the empty glass from his breakfast, setting it in the sink. He watched his wife and the way her pale blonde hair curled at the end, how she always looked like a movie star from 1950s Hollywood, she should be in black and white and greys, red hue always on her lips. He had met her when they were young, and he knew that things were simpler back then, but nothing had truly changed between them. He sipped his spiked coffee and pretended that they were just kids again, teenagers going off to college and reuniting on breaks, his own educating vastly different than the path he was now down. He remembered the old lectures vividly, the way he and Brother White were more competitive than was probably healthy in their academic pursuits. Maybe that had spilled over to now. 

  "Hon, do you think he's goin' to be great one day?" Sarah asked, turning to face him. He could only nod.

  "In one form or another, probably." 

  "He's got your stubborn attitude." She jabbed, grinning. Gideon rolled his eyes.

  "No, I think that's yours."

  "Oh really?" Hands on her hips, a twinkle in her eyes, she watched him at the table. "Well, how d'ya reckon that?" 

 "For one, right now. You're doing it right now." Gideon smirked, arching his brows. Sarah sighed. Okay, she couldn't debate that. She pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek, thinking, before slamming a hand on the counter.

  "He got your neck crackin'." 

  Gideon, to make a point, cracked his neck. "What?" _Crack._ "I don't know what you mean!" _Crack._ "There's _no way_ he's got _that_ trait!" _Crack._ "I've never _cracked my neck_ in my _life!_ " 

  " _Gross,_ oh my _gosh,_ " Sarah groaned, "I _can't_ believe that's healthy."

  "It hadn't killed me yet."

  "Y'sure?" 

  "Do I feel dead?" Gideon got up, pressing his hand on top of hers, still smirking. She pulled her hand away, laughing, shaking her head and stepping back.

  "Don't expect a kiss after crackin' your neck like that, buddy." 

  "Aw, y'gonna judge me for it?" 

  "Do you think I don't?" She retorted, and he stepped back, picking up his plate and setting it in the sink. They had been working hard on improving themselves. They wanted to be better parents, a better family, but sometimes things just didn't go their way. And right now things were going perfectly, with the white hot sun outside setting the clouds on fire, the sky blazing ice blue, and the grass glowing in the light. Everything was over-saturated and perfect, contrast to the ice of their moods the past few months. They were crawling out of an emotional Winter, and they could feel ice leaving their voices. 

  "I gotta get back to work," He gave her a swift peck on the cheek before stepping to the doorway, turning back, "Oh, before I do, though,"

  He cracked his neck.

  She groaned. 

  "Scoot, you damn freak of nature."

  He departed, grinning at his wife. She finished cleaning up the kitchen, watching the way clouds slid through the slow sky. She wanted things to improve, and maybe they would. She really, truly, and honestly hoped so.


	53. Rain in Cain

  An unusually rainy day in June, and Rachel was splashing in puddles. Her rain boots were black and sleek, muddied now with splotches of dried brown and dust-fawn tones splattered up to the top. A sweet haze settled over everything, rain and humidity and heat all colliding. Her air was tied back and under the hood of her coat, her legs kicking up and up and thundering down into the puddles. 

  "Hey, what the hell are you doing out?" Johnny trudged over, his umbrella hoisted over his head, attempting to block out as much mud and wet as he could. 

  "Playin'! Come on, it's perfect weather, toss that thing aside." 

  "Pfft, over my dead body," he scoffed, "besides, you're gonna get sick if you keep messing around out here."

  "Nah," Rachel rolled her wrist, "I'm wearing my coat and boots, I should be fine." 

  "Okay, just don't come cryin' to me when you catch pneumonia." He smirked at her, repositioning his umbrella to account for the shift in the wind. Rachel pouted, stopping her bouncing around to look at him, her purple raincoat covered in the downpour. She followed Johnny as he turned, the rain picking up a bit as they walked. She did want to take a rest for a minute, so this may be her best chance to relax with her friends. 

  Rachel followed Johnny inside, kicking off her rain boots on the porch and pulling off her coat, folding it over the back of their porch swing. She pulled her plaited, dark hair from where it had been tucked into the back of her shirt to ensure it didn’t get soaked, and sat down on their couch. Disney Channel was on, since Jason and Johnny’s little cousin Izzy was visiting from South Carolina for the week. She sat on the carpet with her bright green eyes staring at the television, her hands still resting over some Lego’s she had been playing with. Rachel reached down and scooped her up in her arms, Izzy cackling at the affection from Rachel, who swung her in her arms before bringing her into a big hug.

  “Aw, hey there Busy-Izzy-bee,” she grinned, and Izzy wrapped her tiny arms around Rachel’s neck.

  “Hey, auntie Rachel,” she replied, before sitting back down on the carpet, her hair in a tiny, frizzy bun. She was around six years old, and her parents had been leaving her with her aunt and uncle and their sons for a week every Summer since she was four, and she had grown particularly fond of Rachel. 

  “Hey, Rachel,” Jason was near the bottom of the steps leading up to his room, his blue button-down hanging over his form, a paint-splattered, yellow and white striped shirt acting as his smock. 

  “Hey, what’cha working on?” She asked, pulling her hair back over her shoulder.

  “Some watercolors. Can’t paint outside, they’d just wash off the canvas.” He stepped into the living room entirely, his descent reminiscent of a movie star coming down stairs in a particularly slow scene. His hair was brushed out of his eyes, but strands of raven dark still kept their stubborn place just in his vision.

  “Can I see it?” Rachel asked. Johnny took the moment to sit down with his little cousin, Izzy handing him a handful of Lego’s and the two beginning to build some sort of abstract structure. 

  “Yeah, come on up,” Jason motioned with his hand before turning, ascending up the stairs to his room. Rachel followed quickly, and as they made their way through the halls she noticed most lights were off, conserving energy and - more likely - taking advantage of the dusty hue of the sky to paint the halls in a melancholic blue. Windows spilled in slivers of the silvery color, turning the lightest beige of the walls to a cool backdrop for their walk. 

  Jason pushed open the door to his room, gesturing Rachel to enter. She walked in, slow, taking in the smell of paint and water and something sweet. She looked at the small fold-out table, draped in a blue plastic cover, paint splotches and brushes scattered about it. Some remained in a well-used mason jar, water in another one, and a palette off to the side. Jason had taken up painting as a hobby when he was younger, but only recently showed his dedication, and to everyone he was skilled at what he enjoyed. His brother tended to be the more athletic one, but Jason adored being able to put imagery on a canvas, and bring things to life with his hands.

  “So, where’s your new masterpiece?” Rachel teased. He turned the easel from where it had been resting, bringing the still wet canvas into view. The curtains had been taken down to give him a better view of the street, and of the girl in the picture - however small against her backdrop - and to bring her to life. The fluidity of motion, the attention to detail, it was gorgeous and intense and for a moment Rachel couldn’t help but just stare.

  “Wait- oh my gosh, is that me?” Her eyes widened as she craned her neck closer to the painting. Jason smiled, pride filling up his eyes.

  “Yeah! I hope you don’t mind. My figures were looking stiff, and I didn’t know who else to paint. You were just so, y’know, active out there, so you were a perfect model.” 

  “Holy crap,” She exhaled. Then she paused, and furrowed her brow. “You painted me with my red hair?” 

  “I hope that’s okay, it’s just- red is such a good contrast against the grey and pale. It looks so neat, as you can see, so I mean…”

  “No, dude, that’s great! If it works, it works.” She shrugged, and Jason turned the easel back to its original position, picking up a finer-point brush. 

  “So, have you seen Daniel lately?”

  “Yeah. He said his dad assigned him some theological books while he was grounded.”

  Jason sighed. “His parents are relentless.”

  “I mean, if you ask me, I think they’re stupid, but I think they want him to be like them.” 

  “So, stupid.”

  “Yeah,” She laughed, “yeah.”

  “That sucks.” He mumbled as he swiped a wet, acrylic highlight along the roof of a house. 

  "I know. I wish they would just... Accept him? It'd make life a whole lot easier for him." Rachel sat down on Jason's bed, carefully shifting his books out of the way, Monet's paintings gazing at her from the cover of one. 

  "They don't want to accept what they don't understand. I think he's going to be changed by all of this."

  "Who wouldn't be? Come on, I mean, the kid died and came back and for two years his parents haven't believed him on what happened." She rolled her eyes, watching Jason as the other painted in silence. After a moment, she spoke again, "So, what do you want to be when we get out of high school?"

  "Painter, I think, I really like it. I signed up and auditioned for AP Art, I've got some assignments over the Summer, but nothing too much."

  "Oh, neat!"

  "Yeah, I like it a lot. I wanna try sculpting sometime, too." 

  "I think you'd be good at it." She nodded. "I wanna do music. But not like the choir, y'know? I'm too punk for them." 

  Jason chuckled. "You'd scream halfway through a choral piece."

  "Yeah. Or shout 'fuck' in an inconvenient place." 

  He laughed, pulling the brush down the canvas, striking white along the edge of a tree. "So it'd be like, punk choir. Choir-punk."

  "Choir-punk!" Rachel exclaimed, "Fuck! That's it! Yes, oh my gosh, choir-punk." 

  "The new subgenre, straight out of Georgia."

  "I love it. I love it. Thank you, Jason, I'm gonna treasure that forever."

  "No problem." He chuckled, stirring the brush in the mason jar full of cloudy water. He stepped back. The painting wasn't entirely finished, but it worked well for now. Watercolors and acrylics uniting on a canvas to paint a gloomy day and a girl with fire hair and the water that burned the minute it touched her. A world beautiful and smooth. 

  "I'm gonna head out. You wanna hop in some puddles?"

  "Nah, I'll stay inside for now."

  "Alright, see ya later, Jason." 

  He watched as she left his room, listening to her feet thud against the floor, down the stairs, into the living room. He turned back to the canvas, shifting the easel away so it would dry. He cleaned up his supplies, deciding that he would finish later.

* * *

 

  Rachel made her way back outside, dashing through the streets and jumping into every puddle she could find, the loud splash and the water going in every direction on impact sending thrills up her spine. She loved it, she loved the rain, she loved the fun she could have in it. She knocked on Patrick's door, then on Daniel's, dragging both boys out into the rain with her.

  "I'm gonna get sick," Daniel mumbled, pulling on his white rain coat. He had picked it out last semester, since April was often rainy, and June was proving to be similar. He liked the color, the way it matched his pale appearance, ghostly in some manners. Patrick's rain coat was green, emerald and dark, perfect for his bright amber eyes.

  "Nah, you won't get sick." Rachel smirked and stomped a foot down into a puddle, splashing both boys with water, who flinched away. 

  "Gah- come on, warn us next time!" Patrick whined. Rachel only sprinted from them, shouting for the boys to catch her. Patrick and Daniel considered this for a moment, before dashing out into the rain, chasing after Rachel, water in the air and in their lungs and in the world. Everything was like a basin filling and overflowing, the world warm and wet and loud. They couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity of all of this, how they felt so much joy on such a gloomy afternoon. Rachel grabbed them both when they caught up, pulling them into her arms and keeping her boys in a headlock. One arm over Daniel, one arm over Patrick. They struggled and laughed and pressed hands into her arms until she let go, then all stood, quiet, catching their breaths.

  "Do you wanna go watch Disney? Izzy's visiting." 

  "Sure," Patrick nodded, and Daniel followed them, not sure where to go or what to do otherwise.

  They all pulled their rain gear off, setting it aside on the porch, and marching into the Taylor house. Sitting down on the couch with Johnny, Rachel pulled Izzy into her lap, the six year old curling up comfortably with Johnny and Rachel. Daniel and Patrick took the loveseat, all watching the cartoons on this afternoon, sometimes talking about shows they remember from being around Izzy's age. They were like a family in some way, with all their closeness and how they could be in each other's homes at any moment. It was a kind of community rarely found anywhere else, and a kind they would never have again in a few short years.

  But for now, they had each other and their love of childhood shows and their love of rain, and memories of a warm June, and it was good.


	54. Fourth of July

  Fourth of July meant celebration in the town of Cain. The town had been preparing for festivities, each household purchasing fireworks and streamers and a whole myriad of other items meant to mark the occasion.   
Daniel had asked to hang out with Rachel and her family that day, and this year, his parents allowed it. So now he and all the other outcasts of Cain sat in Rachel's living room, old 60s anti-war songs blasting, mingled with other songs that the Willcox family enjoyed. Veronica's mother had been a Vietnam protester among other things in her home town, and so Veronica and Arthur followed Grandma Willcox's tradition, pacifistic in nature and doing whatever they could to remain out of conflicts with other people. 

  Rachel, however, was down to fight anyone who got in her way. She'd avoided physical conflicts so far, though, which meant she was doing well by her parents. 

  Daniel and Patrick sat on the carpet of the living room, the news muted and everyone chattering. The Summer was passing by fast, and they needed to make use of whatever little time they had left. The house had no decor to mark the date, just food cooked well and fireworks ready for tonight. Daniel had always found it strange how their family was so different than the rest of the households in Cain, but the strangeness made them endearing. 

  "So everyone's gonna pick up their schedules in August," Rachel started, "meaning we all need to compare them and see what we've got together."

  "I'm just glad I won't have to take gym class," Johnny smirked, "sports give me that credit, so I'll be good to go." He had made the baseball team, and throughout the Summer had spent time practicing with the team, and it was always nice to know that he knew what he was doing. Johnny had it together, a plan, ready for the end of high school so he could go off to college on a sports scholarship, or start the automotive career technical program at the community college an hour or so away. He wanted to be something that made money but never required him to sit in an office all day, quiet, docile. He wanted to do construction, engineering, mechanics, sports, anything that involved building or moving around or best of all, both.

  "At least you've got that going for you," Rachel snickered, jabbing his arm. "I'm dropping out of high school in Junior year and joining a band."

  "No, you're not dropping out of high school," Veronica piped up from the dining room, sitting with Arthur, sipping coffee and resting in the window light and warmth.

  "Fine, correction, I'm _not_ dropping out of high school." Rachel rolled her eyes. Then, when her parents weren't looking, gave her friends a very obvious and conspiratorial wink. Jason grinned and pulled his hoodie a bit tighter, his eyes scanning the faces of his friends. He noticed every tiny detail, the way light caught their hair and their eyes and the shades held within. The way everyone's smiles were different, crooked in all directions or perfectly straight and angled beautifully. He wanted to be an artist, a photographer, something. He wanted a world better than this one, and would make it gorgeous with his work. He leaned his back against the couch, seated on the floor, legs stretched out before him. 

  "Jason, aren't you now in AP Art?" Abraham asked, arching a brow.

  "Yeah," He nodded, running fingers through his hair, "I'm going to be in the program for a year, and I can sign up for it every year if I want." 

  "Oh, fuckin' nice!" Rachel exclaimed, her beaming smile the kind that angled specifically on her face, Jason constantly capturing it in his vision and in his work when he drew his friends. Abraham snorted, shaking his head.

  "Rachel, come on, do you have to swear?" He looked at the girl whose hair was still dyed dark, and she frowned.

  "What's it to ya?" She leaned forward on the couch, and Johnny held an arm out, slowly pushing her back.

  "Come on, chill out," 

  "He's right!" Arthur called from the dining room. "It's just personal choice." 

  "Yeah, what he said." Rachel said. She looked at Patrick and Daniel, who were sitting and having a quiet conversation, grinning at each other. "What're you two up to?" 

  "Just hoping we all have classes together. That'd be real fun." Patrick smirked, his burgundy hair falling in his eyes. Daniel nodded, agreeing with the other, and looking at all of them. The sun was slowly descending, afternoon turning to evening, and soon they would be lighting fireworks and screaming at them. He was waiting for that moment, to see everything light up and turn to fire in the stars. 

  "Well, everyone excited for high school?" Abraham asked. Nobody nodded. He frowned. "Aw, guys, come on. It's not so scary. I know I was scared earlier, but I think it'll be fine." 

  "You're an optimist, Abey," Jason breathed, twirling his necklace around his fingers. "I know you have permanent plans after high school, but I don't." 

  "I don't either. Yeah, I want to be a preacher, but we never know where God's gonna take me." Abraham shrugged, his pale blue polo tucked into his khakis. "I'm going to be going whatever path He takes me, and that's all I know." 

  "Sure," Rachel nodded, "but what if that path hurts?"

  "Then I'll get hurt," Abraham replied, calm as ever, "I know hurt and pain are part of it, but that'll be over soon, and I'll be better." 

  "Sometimes you don't get better," Daniel stated, and all eyes snapped to him. He shrunk back a little. "I mean... Well, I know you don't always feel better because I've been there. I was clinically dead once, and all that did was cause a lot of hurt and confusion for everyone. I know it isn't glorious sometimes, and sometimes all you do is hurt." 

  There was a long silence, and Jason gave a small, breathy laugh. "All that fear and pain sometimes is just fear and pain, yeah. But whatever, life's worth living either way. I mean, we've all got plans, and a future somewhere in this weird world. So long as we don't get killed or something, we'll be doing something with ourselves." 

  Johnny smirked and rolled his eyes. "Always the poet, ain't ya?" 

  "Someone's gotta be," Jason retorted with a similar smirk, almost identical but sweeter. 

  A pause that held and tightened on them. Rachel hopped up, stretching. "Y'all are too depressing." She marched over to the stereo, changing the song. A calm guitar chord came over, then more strums, a song she had played for them a thousand times over. Everyone knew it by now, knew it from chords and verses and name. The General by Dispatch, one of the calmer songs she loved. She pulled her friends up, dancing with them, and soon enough they were singing to the song, all their little fears and doubts melting off their shoulders. It was wonderful harmony, and soon Veronica grabbed her camera to record the kids, a memory to preserve forever of a fourth of July. 

_"_ _Take your shower, shine your shoes_   
_Well, you got no time to lose_   
_You are young men, you must be living_   
_Go now, you are forgiven."_

  The words took on a meaning for Daniel. He was forgiven of his time spent in that void, because now he had something to do, a life to live. He didn't know where he was going, but he was going.

 

* * *

 

  A couple of hours later, they were lighting sparklers, Rachel passing the lighter to all of her friends. Abraham held it, a white lighter that was illuminated by the sky and the fire. When all their sparklers were lit, Rachel started running, her feet carrying her through the neighborhood. Patrick followed, and then Daniel, then Johnny, Jason, and Abraham joined in on the chase. Speeding through the night with only fire and sparks and streetlamps and a dying sun as their guides, they kept themselves moving, moving, the laughter echoing through the world. They felt more alive now than they had in a while, something beautiful in this moment captured in bright glows. The fourth of July was more memorable with everyone here, and knowing their paths would take different ways in the future, they savored this moment. 

  Fireflies lit the world around them, tiny glows that showed they were not alone in this day. Stars faded and twinkled and illuminated themselves, a display of glittering silver, and they felt at peace and truly excited for what they had to look forward to in the next four years, anxious and energetic and eager all at the same time, and hoping above all they would be greater than every star in the sky when the time came for them to be. 

* * *

 

  Daniel came home at around ten, exhausted and smiling and a sort of happy one could only be after such a good Summer day with friends. He went up to his room and shut the door, laying down on his bed, his old alien squid drawing resting on the nightstand. He had been looking it over recently, going through old things to discard, and decided he'd keep it. He stuffed it into a shoebox with other things and set it in the top of his closet, going to sleep, unaware that one day he'd be retrieving it with another intent.


	55. Crystal Sun

  The living room of the Willcox household was bathed in the diffused sunlight bouncing off the tiles of the dining room, a July afternoon spent with a mobile fan sitting not far from Rachel, whose legs were crossed and a crystal dangled from a chain, poised as the chain rested across her index finger, slowly swinging. Every so often she would twitch her finger or gently move it, keep the motion and keep herself centered. Her mother sat on the couch, billowing tan skirt draped over her legs as she read one of her latest favorite books, her eyes sometimes flicking up to watch her daughter, occasionally muttering instructions. 

  "Remember, Rachel, keep it moving so you don't lose focus."

  "Got it, mom," Rachel grumbled.

  "What are you focusing on? What's stressing you?"

  "School." She snorted. "Freshman year. New classes."

  "Let it all go," Veronica instructed in a smooth voice, warm and content with the moment, eyes locked on her book. "Let all of your fears go now, Rachel. You'll be okay, it's only four years, and you are able to handle it."

  "I am able to handle it." Rachel breathed each word in slow tones, everything pouring out of her lips like water from a cup, all calm and smooth and into the basin of air. 

  The fan hummed pleasantly, brushing them both with cool air, the air conditioner not doing the trick quite how they wanted. There was a soft knock at the door, and Veronica rose up, setting her book aside, pulling open the front door.

  "Oh, Daniel! How're you? How's your momma'n'em?" It all came out as a rush towards the end, a common greeting in the South, and he just shrugged.

  "Pretty good, and you?" 

  "Danny!" Rachel piped up, leaning to look out from behind her mother, her smile wide and amused beyond belief. "Come in!" She gestured in quick motions for him to come inside. Veronica stepped aside, and Daniel slowly moved into the house, the sound of the chain jangling alerting him to it's presence. He saw the crystal, glowing in rainbow hues at the end of the golden chain, and furrowed his brow. Veronica laughed a warm, throaty laugh as she moved back to the couch, sitting down.

  "Mom's teaching me how to meditate," Rachel explained, "she said it's gonna help me relieve a lot of stress when we get to high school." 

  "What's with the-"

  "Crystal?" She interrupted. "It's for focus, I keep moving it to keep myself in the moment. A lot of people don't use crystals to meditate, but mom says I need something to mess with, or else I'll explode."

  Veronica laughed again, "Would you like me to teach you, too?" 

  Daniel looked at the two girls, as Rachel shifted on the floor, moving to keep herself in motion and settle back into her meditation. He thought about it for a moment. "...Sure." 

  "Do you want something to play with as you meditate?" Veronica asked, gesturing to a bowl with other pendulums made from strings and chains and rocks. He shook his head. "Okay, sit down next to Rachel, and close your eyes. Breathe in slow, out slow..." Inhale, pause, exhale, Daniel did the same. Veronica continued to instruct him, with her voice washing over the two kids on the floor, the summer light bathing them and the fan rocking cool breezes over their figures. 

  "Now, is there any particular thing you're stressed about this upcoming year?"

  Daniel thought in silence. High school. New classes. New classmates. Old friends. New teachers. His own growth, knowing he would become a whole different person in these next four years. The anticipation. The longing to be someone else. The longing. Longing. _Patrick._ Longing for hands longing for lips longing for just a moment of embrace, a moment of warmth, and soon Daniel felt a flush over his cheeks that he hoped was the sun that pooled on kitchen tiles and bounced into the living room, his throat tight. 

  "...Yes."

  "Let it go, Daniel," Veronica soothed, "let it all go. You will be okay. You will survive these next few years." 

  He breathed in and out as she had instructed him to do. 

  "Now, go into your mind, slow. Into the back of your head, think about these next few years and what you want most out of them." She laid down on the couch, legs up, book pressed against her thighs as she began to read again, flipping pages, the small noise of paper against fabric and the constant tone of the fan being the perfect background noise.   
What did he want? 

  He wanted acceptance, happiness, he wanted his family to be good, he wanted these next four years to change them. He wanted to be ready for the world. He wanted love, he wanted everyone to be well, he wanted only everything he could not think of as impossible, too out of reach. He wanted their hands to all join and for them to be as happy as they had been as kids, all smiling faces and running feet on hot pavement and the ever-bright sun. He wanted the hues of the world to bathe them in all of it's glory, to flourish. He wanted to be himself. And he wanted to be himself unashamedly.

  He wanted to be able to love and not to be afraid of it. He wanted to walk everywhere with he and Patrick's hands tangled and to not be afraid. 

  He wanted to tell him how he felt, and to not be afraid.

  He wanted to be with him, and to not be afraid.

  He wanted to not be afraid. 

  Daniel wanted to never be afraid of anything again. He wanted bravery, courage, to be fearless, leaping off of every cliff he came to. He wanted love and no consequences. He wanted his friends to live with no consequences.   
Over time, those wants would become corroded with the years, and all of the iron of their strength would rust and crumble. But for now all he longed for was the greater good.

  He hadn't realized time had passed until Rachel snapped her fingers in front of his face. His eyes jolted open, form visibly flinching.

  "You are getting _very_ sleepy..." Rachel swung her crystal in front of his face, the chain helping it form a perfectly smooth pendulum arc. He laughed, swatting it, rising. 

  "Thank you, Mrs. Willcox, I feel better." 

  She waved from her book, smiling at him, "Don't mention it, honey." 

  He and Rachel walked upstairs, up to her new room, shutting the door. Daniel walked to her bed, sitting down on the edge of it, taking in the sight. The room was cluttered, as her room always was, with her dresser and the same glittery purple star sticker stuck into the left corner, shining out from it's surface like it had back in kindergarten. The desk shoved near part of the room felt like it was new, but he recognized it, somehow.

  "So, what'd you think about?" Rachel asked, bouncing over to him, plopping down on her bed. 

  "High school."

  "Me, too." She didn't speak for a minute, biting her lip, then quickly turning her head to face him. "Danny, are you scared?"

  "Of what?" He quirked a brow.

  "The next four years. We'll be adults before you know it, and I don't know if I'm ready." She admitted, looking around. Daniel remembered when she had been afraid of the eighth grade, and now freshman year loomed over their heads, and they had to face it one way or another.

  "I guess. But I think we'll make it." 

  "Yeah. Or drop out."

  "Gosh," Daniel laughed, "our parents would kill us." 

  "Probably." Rachel smirked and leaned a bit to him, hand resting atop his. "But we'll go down swingin'." 

  He smiled at her like she was something real, more real than anything else in the world. She was one of his best friends, above all, and he adored her for everything she was. Wild, reckless, funny, and unashamed. He wished one day to be as fearless as she was. 

  "Either way, we're toast."

  "Yeah, but we're toast _together_." 

  "Well!" Daniel snorted, "I guess we don't have anything to worry about, then."

  "We'll be toast, and our friends can be our butter and jam."

  "We're a friendship sandwich." Daniel was cackling by now, his voice reverberating off walls and out the window, like it had a life of it's own. Rachel nodded enthusiastically, her dark hair pulled back.

  "Friendship sandwich, a perfectly _wholesome_ meal!" She joked, pointing finger guns at him. 

  "Oh my gosh, Rachel, that's awful." 

  " _You're_ awful." She gave him a playful shove, and the two's laughter teetered out of their voices, replaced by breaths. They stared at each other, and for a moment it all went still. Then they sat in the comfort of the room, Rachel's hand atop his, staring out her bedroom window at the golden noon light.

  "What crystal was that, by the way?" He asked.

  "Angel aura quartz, it's one from mom's ol' hippie days."

  "Okay, your mom isn't _nearly that_ old."

  "Hippies are still a thing, man, get with the times, it's _groovy._ " She jabbed him with her elbow, winking. He rolled his eyes and sat there quietly, watching the girl he had known since before his memories properly began, and he knew that even if they were fated for something else, they would always come back together. They were magnets that snapped back after every disagreement, and it was enough to ensure their futures would always intertwine. 

  They were not water and wine and burning fires. They were just the color of afternoon sunshine, and the way it blotted leaves, they were the melding of colors that made life palatable. Even when time passed, they were inseparable, and could only hope in these moments that this would always be the case, even when the world became cruel. They were inseparable, simply and always, and their unspoken pact to remain together was nothing short of sacred.


	56. Inheritance

  Lina Dirkse, mother of Sarah Jolene, grandmother of Daniel Joseph, fled her body in August. 

  Lina's house always smelled like cinnamon and sandalwood and apples, something distinctly her that clung to her clothes and breathed in her skin. The funeral had passed in a slow and droning procession, Daniel unsure how to behave or react. He had always loved Lina, but they had grown apart since his experience, her claims that he was a sinful child sticking to his skin like oil and seeping into his flesh, down to the bone. Lina had been the one person in his family he hoped would listen, and her back had been turned. He wished it had not.

  Her will was something held between her descendants, and when his mother read out the passage for him, they were all struck with confusion. The living room of Lina's house had not changed in all of Daniel's childhood; a blue couch, a pale yellow floral couch, two blue chairs, a coffee table. Wallpaper with pale hues. Light streaming from pale floral curtains. The world around him smelled of sandalwood and cinnamon and apples and now something distinctly sweet, particularly warm, like she was still there, perfuming the air with her favorite scents. 

  "My charming grandson Daniel shall inherit his great-great-grandfather Noah's dagger. The blade will suit his sharp wits." Sarah, with red puffy eyes and a quavering voice, read. She set the will down, looking between her relatives and then locking eyes with her son. He had not remembered the dagger. But the memories still felt fresh; a summer day when he was young, a lady with white hair and a sweet voice, curls like clouds as she handed the dagger to him, a pat on the head. Telling him one day it would be his. He swallowed and looked around. 

  "Here," Gideon fetched it from it's place on the mantle, the blade concealed in it's sheath. Ornately decorated brown leather met Daniel's hands, and he smoothed his thumb over the textures. "Daniel, you know not to use it on people, right?" He arched a brow, half-joking. Daniel looked up, leaning his head to the side, a small crack resounding.

  "Yeah, I'm... I know." 

  "Good."

  Sarah inhaled, shaking, covering her mouth. She closed her eyes and let her shoulders quake, and soon her husband was seated with her, rubbing her back with soft circles and holding her closer. They sat like this for a while, before going through the rest of the possessions, and deciding some furniture would best be stored away for later. Daniel cradled the dagger in his hands, before unsheathing it later that evening, still seated in Lina's living room.

  The blade was a smooth zig-zag with an almost hooked end, like it could pluck the veins of the prey of a hunter. He examined it with his eyes, then moved to gently dragging a finger down the side, careful not to cut himself. The drumming in his head was a memory of the hymn Lina had demanded be sung at her funeral, people stomping their feet in rhythm, clapping in rhythm, warming up in tongues. 

_"I know that my Redeemer lives,_

_Glory, Hallelujah!_

_What comfort this sweet sentence gives,_

_Glory, Hallelujah!"_

  He slicked a finger along the edge of the blade and winced, a tiny papercut red line appearing. Popping the finger between his lips, he stared down at the blade, turning it over with his other hand. After a moment, he dried his hand on his pants and sheathed the blade, gripping it.

  _"He lives to crush the fiends of hell;_

_Glory, Hallelujah!_

_He lives and doth within me dwell;_

_Glory, Hallelujah!"_

  Daniel could hear the tune as clear as day, the images of people in black singing, screaming to God that they loved Him even when Lina was struck down, they loved Him in spite of this. Because they had all at one point or another witnessed a miracle, and they would forever thank God for the miracles. Daniel couldn't understand, but he tried, even when it seemed all hope was lost for him.

  He came home that night with the blade - a dagger called a kris - and spent time in his room, resting it on his lap. It was a decent weight, and he couldn't move it well quite yet, but he would learn in time. He considered it a great gift and an honor that, even with the way his life had turned out, Lina had remembered him and remained true to her word. So he would keep the dagger, his prized inheritance, and one day it would serve him well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hymnal quoted is "Antioch". Apologies for the short chapter, I'm very tired, and this month has been busy. I hope that you enjoyed it nonetheless, and please let me know what you think!


	57. The Future Ahead

  "Holy _shit,_ you inherited a _dagger?_ " Rachel's enthusiasm was unmatched, her big smile made larger by the way her eyes crinkled up at the edges, despite them being wide as dinner tables. "Dude! That's metal as fuck! You gotta let me come over and play with it." 

  "Oh my gosh, _no,_ I know you're gonna somehow mess up, and my parents will not pay for that trip to the ER." Daniel grimaced, standing in the line. They were picking up their new school schedules, the prospect of their new classes being true hell lingering over them.

  "Come on," Rachel jabbed his arm with her elbow, her breezy laugh bell-bright. Patrick tapped her shoulder.

  "You're next in line." 

 "Oh shit." She chuckled quietly before stepping forward, hands on her hips. "Hey, uh-"

  "Last name?" The woman with low spectacles and soft grey hair asked. A counselor at the school, freshman counselor, probably.

  "Willcox." 

  "Rachel?" She smiled and flipped through her papers, crossing a name off.

  "Yeah."

  "Okay! These are your classes-" blue sheet, "-this is a schedule change form just in case-" white sheet, "-and here's a schedule of the events this year," orange sheet, "any questions?" 

  "Nope, think I'm good!" She held all of the papers in one hand, leafing through them. She stepped out of the line and returned to her father's side, waiting for her friends.

  "Geez," Johnny rolled his eyes, "sounds like there's a lot of stuff we've gotta know." 

  "I guess." Patrick shrugged. "It's high school, though. We're gonna have a lot more responsibility."

  "Sure," Johnny rolled his wrist as he spoke. He looked more bored than usual, slouching mildly, denim shirt draped over his form with the sleeves rolled up, white undershirt giving him the aesthetic of a 1950's greaser. "I know we've got more on our heads, but it's not like we'll be here forever. Four years and then we're out." He jerked his thumb back to make a point, accentuating the words. 

  "Four years," Abraham sighed, "gosh, that feels like forever." 

  "It won't be forever." Jason smirked, lightly patting Abraham's arm. They stood in line, waiting, shuffling forward when other people picked up their schedules. Daniel stood there after a moment, and when the person in front of him had stepped out with their things, he moved and smiled politely at the counselor. 

  "Last name?"

  "Hubbard." 

  As she crossed his name off, she cinched her brow. "Are you related to Gideon Hubbard?" 

  "Yes," he swallowed, "he's my father." 

  She nodded quietly and went through the papers, handing them over, but before releasing them an even wider smile spread over her face. "I taught your father's Algebra class. How's he doing?" 

  A lump formed in Daniel's throat. Lies would probably suit this best. "He's doing okay, ma'am." 

  "Good, good, tell him Mrs. Houston said hello." 

  "I will." 

  He stepped out of line and the cold drooped off his shoulders. Gosh. He really didn't like the idea that his father's old Algebra teacher was about to be his counselor, but it was a small price to pay for living in a small town. He looked at Rachel and she recognized his expression, grim and tired, and pat his shoulder.

  "It'll be okay, Danny. We've got four years, and then we leave this town." She consoled him with a smile on her face, small and meek and kind. He could see that she was concerned and dearly hoped her expression changed soon. He hated to think his friends were concerned for him. 

  As everyone gradually got their schedules, they stood outside the high school, comparing them. Patrick, Rachel, and Daniel had their Algebra class together. Johnny and Jason's schedules were almost identical, save for Johnny's baseball period and Jason's AP Art. Patrick and Abraham had Biology. Rachel and Johnny had gym class. They continued to compare schedules, all the classes through the year, and found they had much of the same courses together, ensuring they wouldn't be separated. And they all had the same lunch, from the looks of it. Rachel beamed at her friends, and Abraham gave them all a quiet and sweet smile. They were looking forward to time together, spending the next year in similar classes. 

* * *

 

  Daniel got home later that afternoon, Rachel having brought everyone over to her house for dinner and movies, and as he stepped inside, his mother was waiting.

  "So what classes do you have?" She asked from the couch, peering down at files from her work. She had a warmer tone to her voice, like she was relaxed for once, a cup of coffee on the table next to the couch. Daniel stepped over, shifting some papers aside (though most of her work was becoming digital now) and patting the space next to her. Daniel sat, and the two scanned over his schedule, their enthusiasm shared. Sarah was excited, so excited to see what her son's life would be like now that he was in high school, finally on the route for college. She couldn't believe how fast he was growing up, and she said so, her arms around him for a moment. He had been laughing and enjoying the affection when his father walked into the room, his hand cupping a glass of brandy. It was his first glass of the night, a shift from the usual many he had throughout the day.

  "Oh, dad-" Daniel looked at him, his bright blue eyes still filled to the brim with the joy of the day, "-my freshman counselor said hi, her name's Mrs. Houston, I think." 

  Gideon nodded curtly, took a long drink from the glass, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Fuck, I hated that class."

  "Which one?" Sarah quirked her brow. He shook his head.

  "Algebra. Mrs. Houston was the teacher. She was good to me, though, pity passed me and everything."

  "Those are the best." Sarah grinned, and for once Daniel spotted mischief in her eyes. 

  "Yeah, they are. So what're you two up to?" 

  "Scanning Daniel's schedule over." Sarah motioned for her husband to join them, and the three piled on the couch, reading over every class. They were all starting to feel the impact of this moment. They would be a family with a son not in middle or elementary, really in high school, four years from college. They had been saving up for his college for years, and that saving was finally coming in handy. Daniel was very slowly feeling this moment through. His father was, for the most part, barely buzzed. His mother was seated comfortably with a laptop working on files, and he was waiting for the next week to roll in, where he would officially become a high school student.

  And even though he was excited, there was a part of him that knew that by the end of it all, he and all his friends would come out of it like they had seen war, and that tiniest part of him cast the shadow of dread over the moment. It was a sunny day with storms on the horizon, threatening to spill and drown every creature, the sensation felt in his bones. He only hoped all of them would be okay in the end, in their better places in life. That's all he could ask for, all anyone could ask for, and all he hoped in this moment shared with his parents and a slip of paper.


	58. Last Sunday

  A Sunday night in September signaled the end of their eighth grade summer. 

  Daniel stood in front of the pews in the regular spot he had sat over the course of fourteen years, his father with him, mother up with the choir. Voices reverberated throughout the old wooden church, reaching high to the steepled ceiling, to the arches and notches and the warm of it all. Windows stained in blues and watercolor purples and hues of pinks and whites diluted all the sunlight, bringing a holy cool tone to bathe them all. The light wooden floors, stained and sanded perfectly smooth and shiny, reflected all of the light and the figures and the world that was Iron Chapel Baptist Church. It was a place that felt taken from a novel or a movie about a small nothing town and a small nothing family and an endless, everything sky. 

  Brother White signaled the end of the hymns and the choirs lips shut like sewn, invisible strings pulling their mouths into demure smiles. Silently, they filed out from their position, returning to their families or their solitary places they usually sat. Sarah Jolene squeezed past other people to stand with her family. Then they all sat.

  Daniel let his glances fall away from the pastor, catching Rachel's eyes the moment she looked his direction, and they shared a knowing look. This was their last day as middle schoolers, cemented in history. They knew they were now high school students and they feared it and loved it all the same. Daniel shifted his glance, craning his neck to look behind him at Patrick, the other side of the church and a few rows down, sitting with his family, and he hoped high school would give him the courage to say something about why he tried to end their friendship one time or about why he was caught looking at him or about why they always stuck together like magnets glued tight. He turned his eyes to Jason and Johnny further up the church with their parents and Jason's watercolor stained t shirt under his nice jacket, Johnny's baseball tee and rough jeans. They rejected social convention as much as they wanted, and no one minded anymore. He looked at Abraham, seated in the front pew with his mother, watching his father but looking far away, floating beyond their world now, floating in the words away from the world that was this church. One day he would be up there preaching and making a change, and it would be good, better than ever imagined.

  No one in the church could predict the next few years, but transformation was in the air. There was bound to be a metamorphosis of some sort, and whether it meant gnarled creatures from tender faces or tender faces into sunshine, no one could say. 

  "Tomorrow is the beginning of the school year." Brother White said, snapping everyone's attention. "My own son is beginning his first year of high school tomorrow, so naturally my wife and I are feeling a bit nostalgic." A rumble of laughter, and the church settled into this comfortable, close-to-home sermon. "And in that nostalgia, I go in prayer, and I say, 'God, let me lead my child to Your glory in these trying next four years. High school is not a kind place for anyone, and I can only hope that through You, he is made a good man to serve in Your honor.' I pray that every day, and I hope you all pray for your children, too, whether it be for the school year or another day of this beautiful life God has given us." 

  Abraham shifted in the pew as he listened to his father, his eyes staring more at his shoes that the figure they belonged to. 

  "So friends, while I am up here, I'd like to say a few words about school. School gives us the tools for the rest of our lives. It gives us the ability to handle college, and later a job. Prepares us for the real world. But school, especially high school, comes with it's fair share of sins. Lust, sloth-" another rumble of laughter "-and even a little gluttony. We can get so wrapped up in the hear and now, we don't think to put our focus on God, our Heavenly Father. So as Christians, we need to teach our children to, in times of great fear, go to God with it all. When we're being tempted by any number of sins, we need to teach our kids to go to God, lay it on Him, and find the solution - the righteous, heavenly solution - in Him." 

  The other members of the congregation all nodded. A few 'amen's were said. Daniel looked to his parents, and though they had their eyes trained on the pastor, Gideon leaned back and folded his arms over his chest quietly, barely quirking his brow. He had never liked Brother White, but he could only sit in silence and watch. The entire congregation now had their eyes on Brother White as the sermon wrapped up, and the pastor raked his fingers through his greying hair and adjusted his glasses.

  "Let's pray." 

  And so everyone bowed their heads like branches, giving way to the weight of a flood. 

  "Heavenly Father, we thank You for our children and we ask You give them a beautiful next school year, and the year after that. And for the kids going to high school, we ask You lead them all to You and Your love, and give them the tools to make their futures better through their faith in Your love. And to those of us who do not believe in You, Lord, we ask You bring them to Your loving embrace, and we pray that they learn to love and trust and worship You, oh Lord. In Jesus' name we pray, Amen."

  The amen that followed was an echo of voices like the creaking of an old house. Daniel felt a stab in his chest. Those who do not believe. He knew Brother White continued his campaign of targeting his family like they were in war, and he could only repress a sneer. Gosh. He just wanted to get out of this town. Every sermon made him want to leave this town faster and faster, sprinting out and into the open world. But four more years would hold him here with their hands on his shoulders, pulling him into the trees lining the city limits. 

  He left the church with his parents at the end, piling into the car. No one addressed it, but they all knew Brother White had targeted Daniel, the only one who had ever said anything contradicting the church in a small southern town where asking questions was tantamount to heresy. He ate dinner with his family, checked he had everything laid out for tomorrow, and crawled into his bed.

  If there was one prayer he would ever make after all he had experienced, it would be for God to give him strength to survive the next four years. People die in high school, he thought, remembering the tales of prom nights and tragedies unprecedented. He would ask God to let him be himself for once, and be open, and be happily with the one person his heart had set on for all these years. 

  If he would ever make one prayer, he only knew that it would be for God to make the next four years bearable, and not to break all their backs under what would become memories. He would pray for good and hope and love and for all of his high school graduating class to survive, come what may.

  But he did not make one prayer, and so he laid there quietly in his bed, listening to the shrill of cicadas and the scratchy chirping of crickets and only could hope that everything would turn out alright.


	59. Rising Words

  "Do you think it's the end of the world?"

  Rachel poked Daniel's back with the eraser of her pencil, clicking it a few times, then pressing the graphite tip on the desk, slowly letting it recede into the plastic purple tube. 

  "What?" He whispered back, glancing and craning his neck momentarily. They were in English class, and today was the first day, and so very little work was happening. The teacher had handed out their syllabus for the semester, introduced herself, talked for a while about the books they would be reading, and then left twenty-seven or so children to their own devices. 

  "I mean, when we graduate. I know a lot of people don't know what happens or what they think will happen when they leave high school. So, figuratively, do you think it's the end of the world?" 

  Daniel breathed a sigh and a small laugh, turning, elbow pressing into the top of the chair. "Our parents made it out alive."

  "Yeah, but what about the in-between time? Like, between high school and becoming our parents, what happened?"

  "College." Daniel answered flatly. She rolled her eyes, pressing her lips firmly together in a frown, a corner pushed upwards and across her face. 

  "Gosh, you're a smartass," she whispered with a tiny groan, "I mean like, what's life like between there? What's it all going to be like between the end of high school and our eventual careers?"

  "Guess we'll just wait and see." Daniel replied, a grin on his lips. "In any case, we all have each other, right? We're all close, I can't see us not being close even after high school."

  Rachel smiled, and it was a soft smile, twinkling up her dark eyes. "Yeah. We'd all follow you to the ends of the earth, y'know."

  "Aw."

  "I think we'd _all_ follow each other there, so don't feel too special." She snickered, arms folded over her chest. She was growing well, her baby face a little less so, her hips a little more so. Daniel hadn't even noticed physical changes happening in his friends until this past summer, seeing them all now versus the photographs taped to Rachel's wall, or the ones in scrapbooks, or the ones in frames. She had always been pretty, and even more so as time went by. His jaw wasn't quite as firm as most jawlines, but would grow to be much like his father's, he could already tell.

  "Yeah," He nodded, fully turning in his chair, draping legs on either side, "I think you're right."

  "I know I'm right." She hummed, clicking her tongue. "But still, I think we'd all follow each other to the ends of the earth, and that's a little terrifying, y'know? Like, what if one of us becomes an axe murderer? Do we all conspire to help get away with it?" 

  "Probably." Daniel chuckled. "You're all my partners in crime."

  "And you're my doofus in crime." Rachel beamed, poking her finger hard against his shoulder. They were speaking quietly, but they gained a few glances from the teacher, whom for the most part had been absorbed in her book. She was a tall and willowy woman with a vest the color of the sun in a child's drawing, her shirt the white of clouds, her skirt a boring wall beige, the safe neutral color that people painted their houses before moving in hopes of selling it soon. 

  "Well, now that I've given you children ample time to talk," She rose up from her chair, and pulled the cap off of a dry erase marker, "I have a task for you. Everyone pull out a sheet of paper." 

  A successive rumble of children groaning, the chorus of backpacks zipping open, the sound of pencils and pens clicking, paper ripping or being carefully removed from three-ring binders.

  "Now, I want you to write a little about yourself. Anything you'd like me to know. Just know it has to be about two-hundred words - half a page or so - and you must use complete sentences. Or, if you're feeling adventurous, write about yourself and the people you're friends with. Tell me all about them. Tell me more about yourself, obviously, since you're in my class, but you'll be here all semester, so we need to make the most of it." 

  Daniel and Rachel, among the chorus of people dragging papers and pencils and pens out, had exchanged looks. They really hoped they weren't responsible for this. But either way, they began to write, as their teacher dipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out her Blackberry phone, setting an alarm. 

  "You have seven minutes. Is that fair?" 

  Some kids protested, some nodded, others acted indifferent. She didn't really care, either way. It was ample time for them. She sat in her desk, watching with hawk-like vigilance for the first few seconds, before picking up her book. 

  Rachel stared at the page. Everyone around her was scribbling away, everyone was gathering their thoughts and making something but she couldn't. She couldn't think, she couldn't get her mind together. Her brain felt scrambled like eggs and she took a minute to breathe. Remember what her mother taught her. Meditate. She inhaled slow, held, exhaled, and repeated this until she knew her heart rate was in a relaxed place. But the clock was ticking. Daniel, in front of her, was already scrawling out something, and she felt a twitch of envy. She couldn't quite figure out what to say, how to say it, how could she ever describe her friends and herself?

  Then she realized, she was the only kid with dyed black hair in this class, she was the only kid in this class wearing a t shirt and a vest and a denim jacket. Ripped black jeans and combat boots. If anything, she stood out. 

  _'So as you can see, I'm sticking out like a sore thumb. My name is Rachel Willcox, and I'm going to be fourteen soon. I like playing soccer and baseball with my friends, I like swimming, I like loud music, and I like to mess around with people. I'm not really comfortable with sticking out. I know I look like I am, but that's because I don't like blending in, either. What did they say on Disney Channel when I was younger, be yourself? Yeah, I'm doing that.'_

  Rachel felt the words in herself, rising through her shoulders to her pen, scratching out a few errors, ink covering ink and blending in. She almost smiled, getting to discuss herself on her own terms, with no real aim. 

_'My best friends are Danny (the huge nerd in front of me), Patrick, Johnny, Jason, and Abraham. I'm pretty good friends with these girls, Charlotte and Ronnie, but we don't really hang out too much. Their parents think I'm weird. Understandable. I don't remember even meeting my best friends if you want honesty, I've known them forever, and I think I'll know them forever onward. I love them, but don't read that out loud, don't wanna inflate too many egos. Egoes? Can you correct my spelling when you read this? It's bothering me now.'_

  Daniel, meanwhile, put pen to paper with quiet ease, but the words felt tainted. He couldn't quite voice what he was thinking exactly. Everything felt foreign and strange right now. Everything was muddled in his mouth and in his writing. 

_'My name is Daniel Hubbard. I've lived here my whole life, and have known most of these kids since early childhood. My best friends are Rachel (the girl behind me), Patrick, Abraham, Johnny, and Jason. I had an incident I'm sure you've heard about - small town gossip - where I suffered an NDE. Very few people wanted to hear my side of the story, so I ended up with only a few friends. I care more about them than I really know how to express. As for myself, I play violin, I like go on walks with my friends, hang out, joke around, and explore. I want to be a leader one day, maybe to help people get their lives together. I don't really know yet.'_

  They both continued to work, writing now a bit frantically, gathering the words and tossing them down until the alarm went off, and sitting quiet while their English teacher gathered papers.

  "These won't be graded for anything but completion, today. You did the work, so you get the grade." She told them, and then brought all the papers back to her desk, sitting down, leafing through them. "Please have put your names on the papers, I won't be able to grade them if I don't know to whom they belong." 

  A few people raised their hands and were called over, leafing through to find their work, writing their names, and then the papers were shuffled. 

  Rachel and Daniel looked at each other and gave small thumbs-up. They had made it through their first day of English class, and while there were four more years of it to go, they hoped only to be at each other's side through all four years.


	60. A Little Prayer

  The cafeteria was a buzz of people of various grades sliding in and out of tables, slamming of trays and the sort of laughter that came from the throat, choking out in high echoes. Daniel walked to lunch alone, Rachel having taken the moment to run off to the restroom and promising she'd return in a minute. He swallowed and shifted his backpack over his shoulder, deep burgundy contrasting his white polo, which tucked into pale jeans. Scanning the cafeteria, his gaze landed on Johnny, who was quietly wheezing at a joke his brother had told, his hand slapping the table, other hand pressed over his mouth. Daniel briskly made his way over, sitting down and setting his backpack on the table. Johnny looked at him and smiled his wolfish smile, his fingers raking his dark hair. 

  "Oh, what's up, Danny!" He greeted, and Daniel gave him a nod, smiling as he looked around. He didn't see Patrick or Abraham yet, but Rachel rushed into the cafeteria, her dyed-dark hair trailing behind her. She slipped into the seat next to Jason, grinning at her friends. Folding her fingers together, she cleared her throat.

  "So we may be the most hated kids in English class."

  "What the fuck? Why?" Johnny's glances shifted between Rachel and Daniel, confusion riddling his features. Rachel shrugged, and then gestured to Daniel.

  "Wanna tell the story?"

  "You started it, don't look at me, Rachel." Daniel snickered. Rachel rolled her eyes, overdramatic and brooding, folding her arms over her eyes. 

  "I'll tell it when the others get here. Speaking of, you guys wanna just go ahead and get our lunches?" 

  A few agreeing shrugs, and the group rose up, walking to the dwindling lunch line. A few minutes later and they were shuffled out of the line and into the rest of the cafeteria, teal trays in hand. Taking their seats at the table, Jason pulled his sketchbook up onto the table, a few mechanical pencils tucked into the front pocket of his button down. He grabbed one and clicked the end a few times, barely paying attention to his lunch.

  "Dude, you gotta eat." Johnny frowned. Jason looked up, nodding.

  "I'm gonna eat in a second." He replied, and he and his brother exchanged looks, before Jason set his sketchbook back into his bag and poked at the sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. Gosh, cafeteria food was awful. He was already a picky eater, not being able to eat most things set before him without picking something out, so as he stared down at the tinfoil shape, he swallowed. He didn't say anything, but Johnny was already picking apart his own sandwich, then leaned over and told him the contents. Jason's relief rolled through his body as he thanked heaven he could actually eat it. 

  Patrick rushed over with his backpack slung haphazardly over his shoulder, pulling out a lunchbox from his bag. "Hey, sorry I'm late," he laughed, "had to finish up a test."

  "A Biology test on the first day?" Johnny quirked his brow.

  "Just to see what we know. The teacher's really neat though, she's getting her doctorate right now, so she knows how stressful this stuff is." 

  "That's cool," Jason said around a bite of the somewhat soggy sandwich.

  "Yeah, she's my favorite so far, but fingers crossed right?" 

  Daniel jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, twisting rapidly to see Abraham standing, hand now jerked back, eyes slightly wide with a nervous smile on his lips. "Gosh, sorry, didn't mean to spook you." He chuckled as he slipped into the seat between Patrick and Johnny. 

  "You could sneak up on anyone, you're like a fucking ghost." Rachel tittered, her eyes creasing up with her amusement. Abraham exhaled, and quietly held his hands together under the table, bowing his head. After five seconds of rapid-fire lip movement, he took a bite of his apple. His friends had learned to stop staring. He prayed at every meal, a habit developed as a kid and one that seemed it would carry on through everything. Then he paused, looking around.

  "Hey," He cleared his throat, "I know you guys aren't the most spiritual bunch, but this is a really important day. Is it okay if I pray for you guys?" 

  There was a long silence as everyone at the table glanced between each other. Daniel closed in on himself, shoulders bunching up at his neck. 

  "If that's okay with you, sure. Do you guys wanna pray?" Jason looked at his friends, and after a moment, the entire table sat with their heads bowed. Abraham took in a breath. He felt horrible for doing this to Daniel, but he remembered the day he had laid there in the grass, telling him he'd go to Abraham's sermons, and he felt a warmth in himself at this. This was his career path, he would be praying with people a lot once he got to seminary. He might as well practice now. 

  "Heavenly Father," he began, "we thank You for the opportunity to come here to this school and seek our education. We thank You for this food-"

  "-even if it tastes like cardboard." Rachel interjected with a smirk. Abraham's voice rattled in quiet laughter.

  "-Even if it tastes like cardboard," he added, "we thank You for being able to have classes together and to get our educations together, and we ask You for a prosperous next four years, and that whatever happens, we recognize Your plan in everything we do. We pray for everyone who doesn't have the chance to get an education, and hope their lives are prosperous nonetheless. Thank you Lord, in Your blessed name we pray, amen."

  A few quiet amens, and they all recognized a feeling in the air. It was like this boy had somehow taken their worries and tossed them into the garbage bin. Like his voice had guided their anxiety out the door with gentle motions, before locking it out. It was a momentary feeling, fleeting, but nonetheless something they cherished for the time it remained.

  Lunch conversations carried on for a while in their ways, discussing homework and new classes and how they planned to handle their upcoming classes after lunch, hoping it would all go well. Daniel, after a while, remembered an important detail, and cleared his throat.

  "When's the computer lab getting new computers?" He piped up, and Patrick turned to him, pursing his lips and thinking for a moment.

  "By the end of the month, why?"

  "Just curious. You'd mentioned it I think, and I just wanted to know." He was lying, of course, but he couldn't tell them about his research. Not yet.

  "Don't go wasting your time in there playing games," Johnny grinned. That was how he had gotten kicked out of the middle school computer lab, playing Tetris until the end of lunch some days.

  "You know I wouldn't." Daniel replied. They returned to their regular conversations - Rachel and Daniel telling the story of English class, resulting in a few laughs and jokes about the situation - and while Daniel felt a sense of dread in having lied to Patrick, he knew it was for the better. This research was sacred to him, it was freedom, and he knew that they would not understand how this freedom felt. The world was opening up like a jaw, and it would become the force that swallowed their worlds entirely. He was anticipating it, and he only hoped that he could continue his delving into mythologies and other religions, maybe for nothing, maybe for something. He just wanted answers, even if he had to come up with them himself.


	61. September 2007

**News for September 22nd, 2007**

  _-Cuban leader Fidel Castro makes a TV appearance for interview_  
 _-Arctic ice melted to a record low_  
 _-Cain Silvers High School installed new computers in their computer lab._

  Coming from a hyper-religious background often meant that he was not allowed to look into any other faiths. His hands were unsteady the first time he looked at the screen, entered the student login, and waited for the desktop to load. Just a peak, just a little bit of light behind the curtain, and then he’d turn his back and run. He swallowed. What if his parents found out? What if someone told? He glanced around, the only person there. What if his friends found out? What would they say? They supported him every step of the way, but Jason and Johnny were tentative. Then he thought about Abraham and he was filled with a fear. Abraham would no longer be able to come over to his house if his father found out, knowing his father.

  Gosh, what if _Patrick_ found out.

  He shook the thought out of his mind like a bunch of leaves relinquishing their hold on a branch. He swallowed. Okay. He opened the web browser and waited. It was his lunch period, he could take his time. He didn't want to hesitate but the option was there.

  With his heart in his throat he typed in his first term.

 _'Major world religions'._

  He opened one page and scanned the list. Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Judaism. He knew about Judaism vaguely from his family and church and various other things he had read thanks to his father. The others he had heard or read a snippet or two about at least once in the books he had spent time scrambling through pages of back in middle school. 

  He clicked on a Wikipedia article on Buddhism, and took his time. 

* * *

 

  When he slipped into the car, his mother in the drivers seat, he felt something resembling anxiety in her wake. A dread of sorts. He had gone against his family and everything they had told him, that God was the only way that Jesus was all he needed that prayer could heal all things but yet he saw in that darkness something else, in that void he had seen barely two short years ago he had sensed something else. He felt like there had been an underlying presence to it all, something with hands outstretched, larger than mountains and rougher than deserts and older than time. But it had not been anything else but his fear, his confusion. He had been terrified and even more confused than he'd ever been when he woke up. 

  "How was school today?"

  He jerked his gaze to his mother and shifted the backpack that sat between his feet on the floor of the car. The patterns of sun trickling in through leaves on heavily lined streets sent glares through the windshield and bouncing off the side mirror Daniel caught his reflection in.

  "Pretty good. I like English class, especially since Rachel and I can sit together." 

  She nodded, hummed, and smiled. "You like Rachel a lot, don't you?"

  "She's my best friend," he replied, furrowing his brow. Sarah chuckled and shrugged her shoulders, hands at the steering wheel, lips red with her favorite lipstick. 

  "I'm just saying," she started, scarlet parting, "I think you two would make a lovely pair." 

  Daniel swallowed, his throat tight, much more than before. A lovely pair with his best friend. A lovely pair with a best friend, with someone he loved, someone with red hair someone with brown eyes someone like Patrick. Someone like the boy he had now dreamt about. Someone like the boy he wanted to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but to, but couldn't find any words to describe what he felt. He didn't know how to feel other than what people told him, and it was wrong. That one incident years ago rang out in his mind, the word hurled from his mom's lips in hushed whisper to her husband, she didn't want him to grow up to be a what now? He never asked what it meant because it would mean he overheard. So he settled to be silent with it in his head.

  "I guess we would." He admitted, and slowly let his eyes go back to staring out the passenger side window. He watched the scenery roll by in the white and blue and peach and brown houses, all covered in sunlight. Filtered through trees older than his grandparents, probably. He wanted to tell someone what was on his mind, but he couldn't. He wanted to talk about how he had read on Buddhism today and found it not only interesting but warming, a religion based in peace, from his vague reading. He still needed to dig deeper, but the time would come for that. 

  When he had set his things away from school, he raced down the stairs. He told his parents he was going to go for a walk, and headed out into the September sun, an unusually hot and humid phenomena that made walking feel like swimming. He walked for a while through his neighborhood until he made it to the yard he and Patrick had sat together in one night they had snuck out. He stared at the spot they had sat down, holding the dark between them and their bodies resting comfortably close. He remembered that night with a kick to himself for not getting it out of the way, telling him what he thought, acting on his feelings. But he knew it wasn't safe yet. 

  He left the neighborhood, through trees and through small houses until he found himself walking down a hill, down to the river he and Patrick had run to in the middle of the night and soaked themselves in and laughed until they were exhausted. He liked this river. It was a quiet place to think.

  Or it _would_ be quiet if someone else had not already gotten there. 

  "Hey, Danny." Johnny sat at the bank of the river, his jeans rolled up, his arms resting over his knees. Daniel took a few steps closer, and sat down beside him. "Did you come here for something?"

  "Not really." Daniel shook his head. Yes, actually. He came here to relive a great night of his life, but apparently the universe had other plans. "You?"

  "Nah, just like the water." Johnny splashed his hand through the river to prove his point, the water splattering on Daniel's legs. "Whoops."

  "It's okay." Daniel laughed and rolled up his pants as well, sitting cross-legged at the bank. They were quiet for a few moments, an awkward sort of silence, before Daniel turned to Johnny. "Can I ask you something a little personal?"

  "Shoot." Johnny raked his fingers through his hair, biting at his thumb nail, all nails already chewed short. 

  "So, say you want to do something, but you're not sure what to do-"

  "I'mma stop you right there. I don't let shit get in my way." A pause. A flourish of his hand, "but go on." 

  "Okay... Let's say you want to do something that people don't really... Approve of. Like, hypothetically, you like someone but know people won't really... Encourage that relationship. And you really want to make a move, but you don't think you can. What would you do?"

  Johnny sat there, biting at his thumb, the skin of which was rough from his teeth. He then pressed his hands into the grass, stretching his legs slightly out, and inhaled. Daniel prepared for the worst. 

  "Well... I mean, if it were me, I think I'd try to unkindle that flame as fast as possible." Johnny said. After a moment, he looked at Daniel with a ruffled brow. "But don't tell _anyone,_ I'm in the same boat. I mean, not entirely the disapproval part I think- well... Hm, a little. Okay. The disapproval bit, too. So I'm holding back. But I think that whoever has this issue should step up and do something about it. It's not worth wasting our lives feeling like shit over something we can't change without acting. So let's just go for it, I guess." 

  Daniel stared at him for a bit, a silent confusion on his face, before he turned to stare across the water into the treeline. "Okay. Thanks."

  "No problem. But like I said," he pointed his finger like a gun, " _don't_ tell anyone, okay?"

  "You got it, just don't tell anyone what _I_ said." Daniel chuckled, and Johnny nodded. 

  "I've got your back, Danny. You may be a strange dude, but you're my friend."

  "And you're _my_ friend." Daniel smiled, taking in the moment. He didn't realize that he could rely on Johnny, but this moment cemented it. No matter what experience he had had, his friends were his friends, and it was good to remember that. He and Johnny stayed by the edge of the river and talked a while longer, letting the shade of the trees keep them out of the sun. When noon started to fall to orange hues, they parted ways and went home, and Daniel felt somewhat lighter. Johnny could never guess what he was dealing with, but his advice still stuck.

  Just go for it. _Just go for it._

  Someday, he told himself, he would.


	62. An Arrangement

  Too risky. It was too risky to start his research now. He had too much riding on this and he knew if he dug deep enough he'd be bursting at the seams to talk about it and let everyone know. To tell Patrick and Rachel about his discoveries and make them aware of the things he had found. So he didn't. He waited for now, just for now, for his mind to calm down and for the world to calm down. He had so much burning in the back of it that he didn't know where to begin. 

  So he didn't begin, and the tail end of September was wrapped up with his own silence. Entering October with still a mild heat, the town continued on. And Daniel continued on. The town was preparing for Halloween, which meant another year of sneaking out and wearing a ghost costume, and he figured it was the last year for him. After all, he was fourteen, and most kids in his town stopped trick or treating around this time. Of course, most kids is not Rachel, who had insisted she was going to keep trick or treating until the end of college. 

  "So how are you gonna manage that?" Patrick asked her one sunny afternoon, walking through town.

  "Easy, I'll sneak out the back door and put on my costume behind the house."

  "Your parents probably would let you keep going, you know that, right?" Daniel piped up. Rachel paused, thinking. She had straightened her hair and pulled it into a ponytail that day, missing a couple of curly strands, dark raven poking out. 

  "Probably, but it's more fun to sneak out." She replied. They continued on their walk, Patrick bouncing about like he did, energy and light and excitement bursting from him. Daniel and Rachel watched and laughed and joked around, and the three felt fine. Nothing was really different between them.

* * *

 

  
  The next day, at school, Daniel was preparing for his next class when Rachel stopped him in the hall, leaning against the locker next to his.

  "Hey," she said, fumbling with the hem of her jacket.

  "Uh... Hey?" He arched his brows, watching her. He had never seen her assume this posture, quiet with eyes darting to see who was looking.

  "So, I was doing some thinking, and I know this is like, super fucking awkward, but do you wanna maybe go out? We're each other's Valentine's dates anyways, so nothing would really change, but..."

  Daniel felt a pang in his chest at what she was saying. He didn't want to be dishonest with her; he had no real romantic interest and it was fairly evident, but at the same time he didn't know how to tell her the truth. The truth was that he didn't have a romantic interest in any girl he'd ever met, and it always made him feel wrong, upset with himself. And he looked at her standing there, quiet, and he decided he needed to try. For his parents' sake.

  For his own sake. If he could at least try to love a girl, it would be enough for them, and he could avoid his own feelings a bit longer.

  "Sure." He finally said, his lips twitching up in a small smile. "Uh... So does this mean we're dating?"

  "Guess so." Rachel shrugged. "I gotta get to class. I'll talk to you later?"

  "Yeah." Daniel nodded. "Later."

  They parted ways and he instantly ducked into the mens restroom, twisting the handle to the sink, cold water flowing out. He pressed it behind his ears, inner wrists, under his eyes. He needed to calm down. Gosh. He felt sick with himself for this. He knew he didn't want to date her. She was more like a best friend, more like family. But he couldn't just outright say it. Wouldn't that be insulting? To know she isn't desirable to him? And gosh, she'd take it the wrong way and get mad and he couldn't handle to see her mad and he couldn't-

  He took some deep breaths and splashed water on his face. It dribbled down the front of his shirt but he didn't care. He pumped the plastic handle of the paper towel dispenser with his elbow, grabbing the cardboard-like brown paper and pressing it to his skin. He tried to soak up all the water from his shirt collar with it, but after fumbling about for too long, he realized how late he was going to be to class. He grabbed his things and tried to keep a calm demeanor, raking his fingers through his hair. 

  Okay. This was no different than their Valentine's arrangement. This was no different. He sat in class and told himself it was no different. It was different though, he knew it was different.   
  


* * *

 

  He got in the car, and when his mother asked how his day went, the sentence bubbled up at his throat like oil and broke the surface of his lips. "Rachel asked me out today."

  She seemed pleased, a gigantic smile crossing her lips. "Oh? And what did you say?"

  "I said yes, I mean- she's my friend, and I like her, so..."

  "Good! I'm proud of you. She's not the best girl on earth, but you two are awfully close." 

  Not the best girl on earth. Control his temper. He loved Rachel fiercely, but not the way he knew she wanted. He loved her enough to die for her but not the way she wanted. He swallowed his pride and nodded. Telling his father when he got home was an easy ordeal. Gideon didn't make any comments, just nodded, a small muttering of "I see," and nothing more. 

_Gosh._

  He just wanted to be honest, but honesty was a dangerous game. So he wasn't honest. He was going to deal with this the way he had to, and one day he would be away from here and it wouldn't matter. Maybe things would finally start falling into place.


	63. Smuggler

  Afternoon on a Sunday. Daniel and his mother stood in the kitchen, Daniel getting down dishes to serve lunch.

  "I think there's a beetle in the bathroom," Daniel commented quietly, pulling down a couple of white plates. His mother stood there, retrieving frosted glasses, the surface pale and diffusing light from the window. 

  "Yeah?" She looked at him, her hair tied back, her interest only half there.

  "Yeah. Under the clothes in there."

  "Well, clean it up before your friends get here this evening." 

  He nodded and they continued on, and he felt somehow tired by this. Mundanity wasn't something anyone liked, but to Daniel his entire life was filled with it. He and Rachel had been dating for two weeks. He had asked her why, why now, why out of the blue, why- and she had said she felt he could use someone there for him. Really there for him. And while still confused, he'd gone with it. He only wished he could be there for her, really be there for her. 

  Lunch went on and Gideon drank his Irish coffee, but it was fine, he had been doing better, he was doing better and Daniel had to remind himself to bite his tongue. He went with it. He lived with it. Gideon looked to Sarah and the two spoke, laughing about the church gossip and grinning and Daniel felt calmer somehow in this atmosphere, even if it was as fragile as frosted glass; diffusing tensions as they entered his mind. 

* * *

 

  
  Sunday evening church service. It had been a long and drawling sermon, one Daniel was excited to forget all about. Rachel and Patrick were coming over for Sunday dinner, piling into the back of the Hubbard's blue car. They shoved and laughed the entire way, and then Gideon piped up, craning his neck to look at them. 

  "So I hear you and Daniel are dating," he said with a grin, shifting his glasses, "good to know my son's got someone." 

  Rachel's face flushed, hot red spilling to her ears. She hadn't told Patrick, who was now gaping at the two of them like he'd been shot.

  "You guys are dating? Dude, why didn't you _tell_ me?" Patrick shoved Daniel playfully, and the three laughed, embarrassment fleeting with them. They were all so close it was hard to be uncomfortable with each other, and the laughter pervaded even when they felt an awkwardness descend on them. They filed out of the car after pulling into the driveway, up the hill that led to the old well-painted house, through the front door. Rachel and Patrick had brought their backpacks, having left them in their own family's cars and retrieved them when church ended, so they could all work on Algebra homework together.

  "So, 3+4x=12, right?" Patrick looked up from his notebook, his pencil tapping mindlessly on the paper.

  "Uh... shit, hang on." Rachel leafed through her binder, pulling out her notes with a papery and shrill _thwap_. Straightening it out by shaking it in the air a couple of times, she looked through, and shrugged. "Right, then you should be able to move 3 over." 

  Daniel lifted his head quickly, looking around. "Oh, shoot- hang on." He set his stuff aside and walked down the hall, remembering now the laundry he'd left in the bathroom. He'd meant to clear it out this afternoon, but his mind had gotten away. He twisted the knob and stepped into the tile-floored room, shuffling through the articles of clothing and piling them in his arms. He looked down, spotting the beetle that stood silent and still. He stared at it, and wondered if it knew what the options were for it's fate. He shoved the discarded clothes into the hamper in the bathroom closet, before kneeling in front of the little creature. He picked it up by it's sides, fingers pinching the hard exoskeleton.

  He could always just open the window, but his eyes gravitated towards the sink. The stopper had been removed due to some plumbing issues a few weeks ago, and so the gaping black hole looked as vacant as a dead man's eyes. He stepped lightly over and looked down into it, then at the beetle pinched between his fingers. The hum of the light above him was roaring. He knew what happened when one died. But beetles had nothing to fear from it, right? It's not like they understood, right?

  Turning the faucet on, watching cold water pour into the basin, he set the beetle gingerly down. It scuttled about for a bit. Then Daniel gave it a delicate push with his fingertip, and the water lapped it's legs. It tried to scurry away, but he pushed it more towards the drain, and watched it sink as though the water had reached up with a tongue and wrapped it around the bug. Pulling it down into the black where it wouldn't be part of Daniel's life again. 

  He washed his hands and left the bathroom but his mind was reverberating. He knew what happened when something died. He had seen it himself.

  But it's not like a beetle would understand that. 

  He walked back to his room where Patrick and Rachel were sprawled out on the floor in various areas, their backpacks glaring at them as they finished their Algebra homework.

  "What took you so long?" Rachel looked up at Daniel, a grin on her face. He shrugged.

  "I was thinking about going and emptying the hamper, but I guess I decided not to." An excuse. 

  "Well, come here and empty your _brain,_ we need help." She waved him over. Patrick was biting the end of his pencil, his teeth making deep indents on the wooden surface.

  "Okay, so we finished the right side of the page, but the left is giving us trouble."

  "The left was really weird, I think our teacher said he's going over it tomorrow?"

  " _Ughh!_ Why'd he give us weekend homework? Does he _want_ us to die?" Rachel groaned, exasperated, moving her arms up and down as she laid on the floor like she were making a snow angel.

  "Probably. Starting with you." Patrick joked, the corners of his eyes crinkling up with his big teasing grin, poking his tongue out between his teeth.

  "Shut the fuck up!" Rachel ripped some paper from her binder and wadded it up, throwing it at him, his laughter like bells chiming in their ears.

  "Is everyone ready for dinner?" Gideon asked, leaning in the door frame. Daniel turned around quickly, his eyes darting to his father.

  "Yes sir." Rachel stood up, dusting herself off. The three filed into the kitchen in a line, sitting down at the table. Prayers were said, dinner was had, and they returned to Daniel's room to finish up their homework. They shoved their papers into their binders and binders in their backpacks, spending the rest of their time joking off with each other. Daniel loved these two, and he felt more at home with them than he did in any other situation. He knew they were his friends and they cared for him, and while he couldn't tell them the truth of what was happening in his brain as of late, he would try to handle it alone.

  Time flew by like a bird and soon Patrick and Rachel were sliding their backpack straps over their shoulders, marching to the door of Daniel's bedroom.

  "See ya, Danny, see ya Rachel," Patrick waved before leaving, ducking down the hall and down the stairs. Rachel waved him goodbye, then turned to Daniel, reaching behind her. 

  "Before I go, you liked those Goosebumps books, right?"

  "Yeah?" Daniel arched his brow. She pulled from behind her a small, paper-bound book. It must have been resting against the flat of her back, still warm from being tucked under her shirt. 

  "I got this for you. It's by H.P. Lovecraft, I think you'd like it. Hide it in your mattress or something, if you want to keep it safe." She winked conspiratorially, and he couldn't help but grin and chuckle. He brought the book into his hands, looking over the cover and then back to her. 

  "Thank you, I'll read it and let you know what I think."

  "I'm sure you will! Well, goodbye." She said. Before she slipped out of the room, she rushed up to him, pecking his cheek, and then dashing off. He stood there, holding a copy of _The Shadow over Innsmouth_ in his hands, looking down. He brushed it with his thumbs, and shut the door. He pushed the thought of Rachel's action out of his mind, sitting down on his bed, parting the cover from the pages and scanning the words over the pages. It looked worn, like it had been read many times before, handled carelessly by young hands and roughly by older hands. He guessed the copy had to be older than he and his friends, and he sat with it, feeling the words as they filled his mind.

  He quietly reclined on his bed, and flipped to the first page.


	64. Precursor

  Daniel had stayed up all night devouring the book, word for word, swallowing every image whole. The ghastly horror, as surreal and terrible as it was, filled his head as he fell into his bed, the book finished at an early dawn hour. 

  And then he had drudged himself up from bed only two hours of rest later, his clothes pulled on haphazardly, his backpack slung over his shoulder, and got in the car to head to school. The drive there was quiet, his mother barely speaking, a dreary fog settled over the small southern town. It was welcomed, the cool blue air and sky quiet, the world calmed. Limbs of trees stretched black in the sky, leaves deep ochre and maroons in the morning.

  He told his mother goodbye when they pulled up to the school, and he dragged himself inside. As soon as he made it to Algebra, he slumped over in his seat, arms on the desk, face buried.

  "What's up with you?" Rachel snorted, a grin on her face. Her roots were growing in red, disturbing the dark violet, meshing into a muddy brown somewhere in between the shades.

  "I was up all night finishing that book you gave me." He groaned, bags under his eyes a purple blue. 

  "Holy shit, you were?" She pressed her palms into her desk, leaning to face him, "What did you think?"

  "I loved it." He grinned, looking up at her with half-lidded eyes, exhausted with amusement in his features and a twinkle in his eye. "Where did you get it, anyways?"

  "It was my dad's copy, he gave it to me and I've passed it down to you. But uh, give it back to me soon, I wanna read it again."

  Daniel gave a thumbs up and slumped back over. He set his homework out for the homework check, and his teacher asked no questions. He was accustomed to students falling asleep during his course, but as long as their grades were up, he didn't mind. That was the one lucky thing about him. 

  The rest of the time, this class was an inescapable hell. Homework every day of the week for a whole semester, with barely any preparation for tests. "When you get to college," his reasonings began, "you will understand, and you will thank me." 

  And there was a unanimous agreement among the young students, _"fuck that."_

  Patrick gently prodded the back of Daniel's neck with the eraser of his pencil, half-chewed off, the rubber digging into the neck of his t shirt. Daniel lifted his head lazily, turned around, and was handed a slip of paper by Patrick.

_'You okay??'_

  Daniel scribbled a reply.

_'Up all night reading.'_

  He passed it back. They continued like this for a while, between assignments and notes and moments where passing notes would be a bad idea, such as when the teacher was looking directly at them. Patrick and Daniel eventually began slipping the notes to Rachel, who would scribble little doodles in the margins, eventually including an octopus and the words _'Cthulhu: guardian of Alebra'._ The three stifled giggles and snickers and Daniel tucked the notes in his binder, being the last one to have them, and they continued their day.

* * *

  
  
  By the end of school, he was ready to collapse in his bed. But homework kept him from doing so. He sat in his bedroom floor, working on various assorted assignments, occasionally glancing at the notes passed in class to keep his mood higher. He crossed out _'Cthulhu'_ and renamed it _'Thulu',_ and went back to work. But Thulu remained in the back of his head, and so he grabbed the paper again, doodling a crude suit of armor and a staff, the octopus becoming the head. He sat, staring at it for a while, before rising and abandoning his homework for his violin. He needed to practice. He placed the rest between his neck and his shoulder, assuming a correct pose, his mind lingering on the few pieces of sheet music he had memorized. The notes, shrill at first, mellowed out and soothed the boredom of his mind. He was lost in it, the beauty and the tremendous power of an instrument he handled with such care. 

  And of course, it covered up the fight happening downstairs.

  Gideon had been drinking at the bar and just come home. No surprise. His mother was furious. Accusations flew from her lips and his voice rose up into it. 

  Just keep playing the song. Just keep moving with it. 

  Their voices were higher now. Playing louder. He closed his eyes tight, concentrating on the song. They were spitting harsher words out now. Something loud, a hand on wood. Play louder.

  Soon he wasn't even following sheet music, improvising to make the loudest, most cacophonous song he'd ever heard, ever would hear, he thought. His song was bright and shrill and exhausted, the strings squealing under the bow, then dipping into a depth he couldn't explain. He thought about the sketch in the margins of the notes. He thought about today. The book. The violin. The sketch. The book. The violin. The book-

  A door slammed in his vicinity and he yelped, uttering a low curse and pausing. Everything was eerie and still. He waited. Nothing. He picked up where he left off, but softer now, warmer now. He played in the comfort of his room. He didn't move from his spot until every note felt tired, every sound felt undone and replayed and overly loud. He let the song fade from his hands, having shifted from fiddle and blue grass sounds into classical and back again, like his hands could not make up their minds. And then he was done, setting it aside.

  He sat down in his floor and finished his homework. 

  Then he pulled out a notebook.

_'Thulu - Guardian of Mathematics and the patron of the Pythagorean Theorum.'_

  He added onto it, little details, what color the octopus was, what his armor looked like, the little things to keep his mind going. He came down for a silent dinner with his mother, his father having - according to her - retired to their room to sleep off his alcohol. Then he came back upstairs, worked on the notes about Thulu for a bit longer, and went to bed. 

  These notes would not be necessary in his future, but rather were the springboard to something new entirely, something that was writhing beneath and would soon wrap itself around him and bring him to it's maw, a fate he would never have predicted nor wanted. But fate was funny that way, the kind of funny where no one is laughing and everyone is giving shifty glances and wondering where to place the blame. 

  The blame would be on him. Always and forever, on him.


	65. Pythagoras and Lovecraft

  Daniel bought a couple of composition notebooks that Saturday. 

  It was an unusually warm October afternoon, with the leaves still burning an off shade of green, when he walked into the dollar store with a mission in his mind. It wasn't far from his house, just a local shop, a quiet place that he liked to go sometimes when he had some money and nothing to do. He had told his mom he needed some supplies for school. This was a lie, one of many, but honest enough. He grabbed a couple of the composition notebooks, cheap and flexible, and a couple of packs of pens and pencils. He paid for it all and left, returning home. 

  He flopped down onto his bed with his notebooks and pens and the scrap of paper - _'Thulu - Guardian of Mathematics and the patron of the Pythagorean Theorem'_ \- and transcribed the information from his other notebook into this one. He got up, opening the window and letting the warm autumn air breathe into his room, lungs of the world expanding a little further. His parents were at work, he was alone, he had the middle of the day to himself. His room was like the energy floating in the universe before creation, something needing a boost, something needing a push. Daniel turned back to his bed and saw the notebooks laid out and knew he'd have to hide them from his mother. Maybe he'd take one to school, keep it in his bag, safe and tucked away. Then that thought fizzled out. How would he explain it to Rachel and Patrick and everyone else? 

  He'd find a way. He shrugged it off and sat back down, pulling it into his lap. He ran his fingers over the page, the indents of pencil graphite in the paper feeling awkward and new. He had never tried to invent something like this before. This was more than a daydream, this was something he could write out. Maybe he'd become a writer one day, who knows. He decided it didn't matter for now, he was still in high school, he had time. He picked up his pencil and tapped the eraser on the paper a couple of times, thinking. _How did Thulu come into existance?_ His name was taken from Cthulu - he'd only gotten rid of the 'C' and an 'H', really - so maybe the origins were similar? _What were the origins of Cthulhu?_ He didn't have enough information to go that route.

  No matter, he'd figure it out himself. He had time on his hands. Maybe a trip to the library would be a worthwhile excursion. 

  Pulling on his light denim coat again, he tucked his notebook under his arm, pencil slid into the front pocket of his jacket, and left the house. The walk to the library wasn't long, and Saturdays tended to be pleasant. 

  Well, the walk would've been fine on its own, if Rachel had not bounded up behind him and gave him a giant shove, Daniel bending so as not to fall. Her laugh was bright and echoing and high, and he grunted.

 _"Rachel-"_ He hissed, pulling his notebook further under his arm, "you could've knocked me over!" 

  "That's the plan, captain," She folded her arms over her chest, her grin wide and sprawling, "I mean- not to hurt you or whatever, just 'cause." 

  Daniel rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help the chuckle that left him. He looked at her, and for a moment his expression dropped, shock taking his eyes. "Your _hair-_ "

  "Yeah." She shrugged, "I'm not gonna dye it back. So it looks like crap right now." 

  "Why not?" 

  Another shrug. "I don't wanna. It's a hassle, you have no idea how many gloves I've gone through putting hair dye in. But I'm still gonna keep straightening it, I like it like this."

  Daniel nodded, and righted his posture, smirking, "So what're you doing out?"

  "Just adventuring, I guess! I wanna go down to the river and see if there are any cool fish out there today."

  "Just don't grab a snake." 

  "Oh come on, I've been walking down there on my own for years, never been bitten!" A pause. "I mean, I saw a water moccasin once, though. _Once!_ " 

  "Once is enough for me, if I saw one, I'd probably never go back." 

  "Coward!" She jeered, grinning, "Coward! Coward!" She was chanting now, bouncing in circles around him, an overexcited wolf to a rabbit. He laughed, pressing his hand over his mouth. Daniel had always wondered where she got her boundless energy, her enthusiasm for things, the bright look in her eyes a burning fire he'd never known anyone to put out. He waited for her to stop before he started walking, but felt a tug under his arm, and the notebook was out from his grasp and in Rachel's hands.

  "What's this?"

  "Rachel-! Give that back-"

  " _What...?_ " She grinned, drawling on the syllable, "Is it _embarrassing?_ " She paused, then gasped, "Oh my gosh is it your _diary?_ "

  "No! Just- give it back!" His face flushed, and he made a mad reach for it, but Rachel turned her back to him and opened to the front page. She scanned it for a minute, and Daniel stood there, an ice chill in his bones, his anxiety flooding his system. The silence was stifling, but when she turned around, her expression was one of calm and somewhat amused interest, her smile lopsided and brows furrowed. 

  "Wow, Thulu? You couldn't come up with something more original?" She joked, before handing it back, "I like it. So, why are you out today?" 

  "Going to the library. Gonna try to find more Lovecraft, or something on Pythagoras." 

  "Oh dude, no need for that, I've got the book on Cthulhu. You want it?"

  "Wait-"

  "Yeah, Lovecraft wrote several on Cthulhu. _'The Call of Cthulhu'_ is the one you're probably wanting."

  "Yes! Yes, anything you've got." 

  Rachel whistled, hands on her hips, which had somewhat widened in the past year. "Wow, you're like, a Lovecraft addict. Do I need to stage an intervention?"

  "I've only read one of his books."

  She laughed, waving her hand, "I know, I know. Come on, let's go get you some cool horror shit." 

  They walked to her house, and once inside, made their way to the living room. She bent down, scanning the titles on the bookshelf nearest the kitchen doorway, pursing her lips. After a moment, she muttered something and pulled the book from the shelf, flipping through it for a moment. "Yeah, this one, here you go! Catch!" She tossed it, and Daniel fumbled to catch it, almost tripping over a couple of times, in turn dropping his own notebook.

  He cursed under his breath, and then stood there with a copy of the H.P. Lovecraft book in his hands, as old as the other one he'd read. He looked between her and the book, then furrowed his brow.

  "Why do you like lending horror to me?"

  "'Cause your parents wouldn't let you read it on your own, and I'm of the belief everyone needs some good horror books in their lives, at least so that they've read'em. Besides, these are classics, big deal types. You'll get a lot out of 'em." 

  "Have _you_ read them?"

  "Yeah, I've read that one, the other one I lent you, and a few others. This guy was on some next level shit. Honestly, I think he was on some wild drugs, and I wanna know which ones. They're so strange and cool and just- freaky! The books, I mean. And if he was on something, I need me some o'that." 

  "Oh my _gosh,_ Rachel." He rolled his eyes and picked up his notebook, tucking both under his arm. "I think I'm still gonna go to the library. Get some info on Pythagoras."

  "Math guy, right, good luck with that. Let me know what you find!" She sat down on the couch, grabbing the remote. "I'm gonna sit here for a bit before heading out again."

  They parted ways and Daniel made his walk to the library, his mind absolutely burning with the power of what he had in his arms. He had an entire universe he would be able to explore with this book, and the world he could create with the information contained in the pages. He wanted more, he needed more, his mind craving the beauty and horror of the words. He grabbed his pencil, checking it was still in his pocket, and walked lost in his mind. 

  Once he got to the library, he asked where he might find information on Pythagoras. Books on Ancient Greece were his best bet. He sat down with a couple of them, the table quiet and out of the way. He pulled open the cover of one of the books, and started his work.  
  


* * *

 

  Whatever he had expected, _it had not been that._

  Pythagoras, he gathered, was one strange son of a bitch. He had written some information about him in his notebook, and when he'd finished reading just about anything he could find - they had surprisingly little information on Pythagoras, it seemed - he put the books back and left, walking home. Pythagoras, ancient Greek philosopher and mathematician, was born on some island, was the son of a merchant, and had traveled to a lot of places to gather what led him to develop his theorem. He had been a prisoner of war in Babylon, learning the customs of the culture and eventually being released because he was able to blend in with them so well, and traveled to Italy and Egypt at some point. Daniel, when he got home, sat down on his bed, reading over his notes.

  Pythagoras had been a cult leader, not to mention, so perhaps he could use that.

  _'Thulu was contacted by Pythagoras during one of his seances, and granted him the knowledge he needed to make his theorem, but the knowledge drove him mad, leading to his many strange rules and ways of living. Including his belief that beans were sacred or evil (info was unclear) which Thulu laughed at, but didn't intervene.'_

  The story was becoming clear in his writing. There was more to it than that, and sure, he'd write more later, but there would be time for it. He wanted to write strictly on the math deity now, try to work out his details. Maybe he could find a book on writing. He'd figure it all out eventually, and figured that this would be a good way to distract himself from the sermons and the mundanity of his daily life. Laying down with the book Rachel had lent him, he opened to the first page, and started his dive into the Lovecraft universe once again.

  Daniel couldn't know it at the time, but looking back on these events years later, it was no wonder he wound up where he did. This was only the beginning, and it was one that would lead to an all-too-bitter end.


	66. Hunter's Gun

  Daniel's father decided another fishing trip was in order. Granted, it was the tail end of October and it was sort of unpleasant, but the weather fared well enough and the fish were still biting. With flannel coats pulled on and fishing rods piled in the back of the car, they drove to the pond and stood in the chilly air, time passing slower than the thin veil of mist over the water. Daniel was quietest, his mind still swimming with Thulu and his various aspects. Summoned by Pythagoras, he drove the other mad for entertainment. He brought him to the point of murdering another. He gave him strange beliefs. And now Thulu has fun with messing with the heads of mathematicians, giving them impossible equations and the frustrations that came therewith. His story was fleshing itself out beneath his mind, pulsating and breathing. Thulu was vaguely squid-like. Mainly, that was the head.

  Body of a deer with a spiny back like a dragon, like Cthulhu. Legs longer. He was stuck like gum to cement into his thoughts, only snapped out when his father spoke.

  "So how are you and Rachel doing?"

  Daniel shrugged, "Pretty good. I think."

  Gideon shifted his gaze to Daniel, one brow arched, his thin mouth in a line. "You know, if it ain't goin' well, you can tell me." He said, his voice low and calm. Daniel thought for a moment, worrying at his lip.

  "I don't think I want to be in a relationship with her." He admitted, the confession bursting out of him like a balloon popping in silence, "I mean, she's one of my best friends. I love her in that regard but I don't really- I don't want a romantic thing with her. She's just a friend. Heck, more like a sister."

  Gideon nodded slowly, keeping his gaze now on the water. "Well, if she doesn't mean anything romantically, just tell her."

  "I don't know if I can. I mean, it's Rachel. I've been friends with her since forever, I don't wanna hurt that."

  "You won't by bein' honest. It's all a woman can ask for is a man to be honest, even if it hurts like hell." Gideon chuckled, shaking his head, "It hurts both people sometimes. But it'll be okay. You got this, Danny boy."

  Daniel looked up at his father, his mud brown eyes and dark hair, and wondered how the two of them were related. They were from two entirely separate universes. Daniel was delving deeper and deeper into Lovecraftian horrors and Gideon was a drunk who worked with attorneys all day. He watched his father for a minute before he turned his eyes back to the water, the way the light speckled it, the depths below completely hidden in the hues of sunlight.

  Daniel never really liked fishing. He didn't like skewering a worm and watching it wriggle and writhe until it released itself to death, and he definitely didn't like the gaping gasping of a fish, big eyes full of what Daniel could only see as fear. But it all came from a strange place. These emotions were from the void he had seen, the anxiety surrounding it.

  Then he remembered he had drowned a beetle in his sink and felt nothing, and somehow this felt even sicker. Bugs weren't less than anything else, were they? Then why did he feel nothing for it? Why did he just feel numb and like iron was sitting in the pit of his stomach as he watched it. He couldn't quite understand himself, and he knew he never would when it came to this. For now, he swallowed the lump in his throat and continued fishing alongside his dad, sitting down in the grass and watching the sunny pond.

  "I've been thinkin'," Gideon looked at Daniel, giving the boy his full attention, "we need to take you huntin' sometime. Y'ain't ever been, and most boys have been huntin' with their daddy since day one."

  The blond boy stared out at the water, letting the words process. He didn't even know how to fire a gun. He didn't know how to hunt. He wasn't prepared for this and his father knew it, because he set aside his fishing rod and walked back to the car, returning with a pistol. He checked that it wasn't loaded, and sat down next to Daniel.

  "Y'see this? This is a safety. This makes sure the gun doesn't fire when you're not ready."

  Daniel shifted, watching his father as he went over the various features. It was a simple pistol, nothing big, nothing that most houses in the town didn't have somewhere in their homes. In the south, having multiple guns was just how it was, unfortunate and biting. Gideon explained further about the safety of it, how to ensure he wasn't going to shoot someone, taking his time. Daniel listened intently, knowing that this could be handy one day, his interest not exactly piqued but his curiosity bouncing.

  "I'll let you fire it, if you can tell me some of what I just said." Gideon offered with a smirk. Daniel recalled the details of where to aim, how to reload, how to cock the weapon. When Gideon put it in his hands it was much heavier than he imagined. It was weighty and cold and it twisted Daniel's gut, a lump in his throat again, a battery acid flavor behind his lips. If he could just use this and so easily take a life, then how could he ever be at ease?

  Gideon helped him cock it and aim. He was aiming for a tree a few feet away, rising and straightening his posture. He stood quietly and took in deep and slow breaths. He closed his eyes as he squeezed the trigger, bullet launching and lodging itself in the wood, splinters knocked away and flinging themselves on the ground. Gideon laughed, pleased, arms folded over his chest.

  "Well, you might just be my son after all. I've got great aim, but your momma don't think I'm good with a gun." He clapped his son on the shoulder, then took the pistol, put the safety on and removed the clip. He looked at Daniel, biting his lip, thinking over the words to say. "I'll take you huntin' next Saturday morning. We'll go over more procedures durin' the week. How about that?"

  Daniel could only nod. His father, pleased further, gestured to the pond. They went back to fishing in the quiet, and didn't speak much more.  


* * *

 

  As promised, the whole week was filled with lessons in safety, in how to hunt, what to do, how to aim. There were various little things Gideon would quiz Daniel on at dinner, and when he did, Daniel usually gave the right answer. And over and over this routine went, and for a short moment, Daniel was starting to feel some sort of bond with his father. He was more than a drunk paralegal. He used to once love the outdoors. He used to be deeply intellectual and slash people's tires and be wild and rebellious, all these vague concepts explained in snippets of conversation he would hear. He had been more. But Daniel saw him now, the shell of a man departed long ago. His flesh was cold and his voice was low and had more of a drawl than it used to. He was wearing stronger glasses than he used to. He looked tired, lines under his eyes, or perhaps he was just growing older. And

  Daniel just hoped that for once, things would go well.

  Saturday morning, bright and early, Daniel and his father piled into the car. Gideon cracked his neck, first the right side then the left, and started the car. Daniel just watched the town as it passed on by, as they began to leave for the woods, parking somewhere just on the border of a dense forest, before grabbing hunting rifles and making their way into the birches and towering pines. White tail deer were very common here, and that's what they were after, Gideon had told Daniel. So they set out into the brush, moving quieter than Daniel had in a while - not counting when he snuck out with Patrick - and waiting for every moment to turn in their favor. It was all about waiting. In the dirt and leaves and in the trees and grass, waiting.

  They found a good spot and sat down, the rifles positioned so at any moment they could fire. Daniel stared through the scope, his eyes slowly scanning back and forth. He hated this. He hated every moment of it. The idea of taking a much larger life was terrifying, his breath in his throat and his heart somewhere down below his ribs and just above his stomach, abdomen bump-bump-bump-bumping with his heartbeat. He inhaled slow, exhaled slow, quiet.

  It was an hour, maybe more of sitting in complete silence before some deer began their prance through the clearing. Daniel stared at one. A doe. With big brown eyes and tawny fur. She was tall and pretty and looked like a painting of a deer. He didn't want to shoot her he didn't want to. But his father had purchased the tags and brought them out and he couldn't deny that this wasn't a bonding experience. But still, the sight was terrible. Daniel aimed and saw other deer around the doe in particular, others prancing about and grazing and they were all just alive and they were all just subject to the same horror he would be. He had been. He remembered that void, that cold nothingness creeping down his skin, every bone in his body null and void and the floating of being and being nothing. He didn't want to send them there. They didn't deserve it. They didn't deserve this but he had to do something, he had to act he had to- could he shoot the ground could he shoot the sky? He didn't know, no, he didn't.

  He aimed. He focused in on the doe and as she lifted her head, he saw her eyes and they practically made eye contact. He stared. She stared.

  A shot was fired.

  "Right between the eyes!" He heard his father cheer. He watched but it was in slow motion, his father turning and giving him such an approving look he didn't know if it were real or a joke. He watched the way that the doe tumbled to the ground. A lucky shot. A really, really lucky shot. He and Gideon moved from where they had been sitting, and everything was a blur from then on.

  He had just sent an innocent creature to where nothing belonged.

* * *

 

  
  They had dropped off the deer to be cleaned and processed. Then they went home, and Daniel immediately went to his room. He grabbed a change of clothes, then rushed to the shower, locking the door and stripping down and turning on the hot water. He needed to feel something. He needed to feel something anything please just anything but that. Anything but that cold chill of nothingness he needed to feel at least a little alive-

  He scrubbed until his skin turned red, scalding water and soap and a rough cloth all combining to completely remove the scent of the day from him. He didn't feel better. His hands still felt dirty but it was all there was. He turned the shower off, drying down and dressing himself. He stared in the mirror. Fourteen, faced death at twelve, inventing his own mythology for kicks, and having recently killed a small creature with no mercy and a larger one with gnawing dread. He didn't understand and knew he never would. The deer was innocent. He had been innocent. In that moment he had felt one and the same with it, both benign and quiet and living out their lives but no, no longer.

  He went back to his room, laying on his bed, pulling out his notebook from where he hid it, tucked under his mattress on the opposite side.

  _'Thulu does not embrace hunting. He does not embrace killing a living thing. He knows what the void looks like, and he can't allow anything to enter it.'_

  And then he closed the notebook, hid it once more, and pulled one of his pillows into his arms. He wanted to talk to Patrick about this. He wanted to see him, tell him what he did. Tell him how it all went, and know that maybe someone could understand him, and maybe even someone could explain why the hell he was feeling this deed in his body when it had helped humanity survive for thousands of years. He didn't know, and maybe someone else would, but for now he wanted nothing more than to try to sleep this off. Just an afternoon slept away and nothing more.

  Maybe when he woke up, it would all have been a bad dream.


	67. Or We Could Fly

  It had been a miscalculation on his father's part. The bullet had lodged itself in the doe's chest. Somehow, this revelation made things much worse. It was just one of many miscalculations in a long string of them in Gideon's life. But it was enough to turn Daniel's stomach. 

  He decided he would confide in Patrick about these things.

  One windy Thursday afternoon, when Daniel's violin lessons had been cancelled (his teacher had sprained her wrist) he knocked on the door of the Sartoris household. Rose answered as always, the small house smelling of cherry tobacco smoked from a pipe, woody and warm and sweet, curling in the clothes of the woman with burgundy hair and an almost everlasting smile. Daniel asked to see Patrick and the other boy was called. He gripped Daniel's wrist and the two bounded up the stairs like hundreds upon hundreds of afternoons they'd spent before, similar and something familiar. 

  "What's up?" Patrick asked, Daniel shutting the door as he moved into the room, his thick coat a warm brown that kept him warm outside but felt like burning inside the house. He tugged it off and tossed it aside. 

  "I uh- I went hunting with my dad." Daniel forced out. "I've made the decision I'm _never_ going hunting again." 

  "Why's that?" Patrick plopped down on the bed, patting the space next to him. Daniel fidgeted with the sleeve of his sweater, standing still, before moving to occupy the space. "Tell ol' Patty all about it." Patrick jabbed Daniel with his elbow, the blond releasing a tiny, breathy chuckle, nervous and all the same calm in the moment. 

  "Uh- well, when we were hunting, we got out into the woods and had to sit still for- _gosh_. I don't know _how_ long. But we sat there and some deer came into our path, and I just- I saw this doe, and I know it sounds stupid but I _swear_ we made eye contact and for a moment I thought about how..." He trailed off, trying to find the words. It was hard to explain to someone who had never seen death what it was like. It was hard to explain what that void was like; cold and dark and endless. It wasn't just the temperature that made it cold, the emptiness. The lack of anything. The terrible void made it cold, because it was nothingness and fear rolled into one endless thing. Patrick's gaze, nervous and inquisitive, prompted him to go on. "...About how when I _died,_ that one horrible moment, it was like- do I _really_ want to make something else go through the same thing? Like- do I _want_ to watch something enter that same weird void and know they won't come back?" 

  Patrick had taken the moment to lay back on the bed, arms splayed out, eyes staring at the ceiling. "Damn, Danny. That's deep."

  "But it's true. I shot something and it died and I don't know how to feel about it, like... I should be okay with this. Hunting is part of our world, isn't it? We're guys, we're _southern_ guys, we're supposed to _enjoy_ hunting and fishing and all that crap but the truth is, I don't. I don't want anything to do with it, but if I say anything- gosh. What'd happen?" 

  "You'd live your truth." Patrick shrugged, "It's really not much more complicated." He folded his palms underneath his head, staring at the ceiling fan that slowly rotated above them, his green flannel rolled up to his elbows. "I mean, I get that you wanna fit in. I do. But you're Daniel _freakin'_ Hubbard, you've always been weird and you'll always be weird. But you're _our_ weird, and we're all here for you. So... Don't go hunting or fishing or whatever people our age like to do. Be weird. Be different. If they're rude to you be rude back, don't take any shit." Patrick paused, then laughed as he sat up, rolling his eyes with a twisted smirk. "Gosh, I sound like Rachel."

  "You do sound like her. Weird."

  "It's like our brains are melded together." He turned to Daniel, his grin spreading out. "We're a hivemind, Danny. It starts with us, then soon it'll be you and everyone else. We'll take over the town as a team and ban shitty country music and fight anyone who picks on us." 

  Daniel laughed a lot harder than he expected to, bending over, arms around his midsection as he sat on the bed, blue eyes twinkling. He looked at Patrick and the other's smile was warm and comforting, and he felt comfort in it. Patrick stood, stretching, and pulled on his olive green coat. "Come on, let's go run around and get those worries outta your head." He said, gesturing for Daniel to follow. The blond pulled on his own coat, and Patrick slipped on his boots. They left the house without mentioning it, only nodding at Patrick's mother as they walked out the front door, his father in the living room smoking a pipe and working on some sort of contraption they couldn't get a glimpse of. 

* * *

 

    
  There was a small park just outside of town. It had enough equipment and was well-maintained, but no one liked to send their kids out in the November chill on a Thursday afternoon to play. So it was just the two of them as they stepped up to it. Daniel turned to Patrick, quirking his brow. "A playground? Really, Patrick?" He almost frowned, but Patrick's grin was enough to deter it. His joy cancelled out Daniel's pessimism.

  "Come on, it'll be fun. Race ya to the swings!" Before Daniel could process it, Patrick was flying down the hill to the swing set, his feet like air beneath him. Daniel rushed after him, almost tripping a few times, his face feeling the blunt edge of the cold. It was unusually chilly for the south, but it was said warm air was coming in soon. 

  Patrick lept for a swing, tossing himself into it and feeling the seat against his stomach, laughing wildly as Daniel took the calmer route and sat neatly down. Eventually righting his posture, Patrick kicked his legs beneath him and worked up momentum, pulling himself up into the air. 

  "Feel your worries fly away from you, Danny! Feel it all melt in the air!" Patrick outstretched his arms, closing his eyes for a moment before feeling a slight wobble, his hands latching to the squeaking chains. Daniel snorted, pulling the chains into his hands and kicking himself up, the heat of the coat and the chill of the air going against each other, clashing on his body. He was fourteen and he had killed something, but he would be okay. He would be okay. He closed his eyes, keeping his grasp on the chains. It almost felt like flying, being so high from the world for a second and then feeling the earth so close, then again in the air. He turned to Patrick, opening his eyes, watching the other boy. His heart was leaping in his chest, the wind whipping up the burgundy hair of the other boy, his amber eyes bright and shining and alive. He was gorgeous, his jawline becoming stronger with the years, his nose more pronounced in such a regal way. He was beautiful and became more so with the years. Daniel reached his hand out, reaching for him, and Patrick returned the reach. Their fingertips brushed, then palms latched, pulling the swings close and then in the same motion they were forced apart, swings deciding to shift in another direction like pendulums in a storm. After a while the two skidded to a halt, Patrick twisting in his seat.

  "You wanna take a jump?"

  "That's dangerous, you know that. We could get _hurt._ "

  "Or we could fly." 

  "Or we could break a leg!"

  "Or we could fly, Danny! Come on, please? I wanna jump with you."

  "Or, we could just keep swinging. Or go home. Or go on the slide, slides are fun." Daniel retorted. Patrick puffed out his bottom lip, shoulders slumping. Daniel's throat welled up with guilt, and he finally sighed heavily, aggravated, "Fine. Okay. One jump."

  Patrick pumped his fist in the air, bringing it down. "Cool! One jump, got it." 

  They gathered their momentum once again, kicking up in the air, watching the way that they swung forwards and backwards until they got to a certain height. Patrick looked at Daniel. "The next swing, we jump. Ready?"

  "Oh shit-"

  "One, two-" 

  And then they lept.  
  


* * *

 

  It was like falling off a cliff. Daniel and Patrick had launched themselves from the swings like rockets, landing a foot away palms first in the grass, burning on their hands but otherwise unscathed. Daniel looked at his palms, and aside from dirt lodging itself in his nails, he was fine.

  Patrick stood up, dusting himself off. "Well! That was great, wouldn't you say?"

  "We can't do it again, you said one jump."

  "I know, I know. But it was the jump of a lifetime." Patrick sighed wistfully, his eyes gazing off into the distance.

  "You're a dork." Daniel gave him a playful shove, and then Patrick shoved back. They were shoving and playfully hitting each other's arms the entire walk to Patrick's house, where they sprawled out on the floor of his room and talked about school. Freshmen, soon to be sophomores. They would endure many changes in the oncoming years, that much was true, and if they had an inkling of what was ahead, perhaps they would have held on tighter to this seemingly frivolous year. But the future was coming fast, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.


	68. Alike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have a tumblr dedicated to all things Are You Satisfied! Follow it @are-you-satisfied-fic for update alerts, bonus content, and plenty of other fun things related to this fic. Thank you!

  "I don't want to go to church anymore." 

  Daniel's announcement was no surprise across the dinner table, but his mother and father still jerked their gazes to him. Sarah's sweater was a low and sullen blue, navy almost, draping her shoulders and colors colliding with her bright blonde hair. Her gaze was the sharpest when this announcement was made. Faded-edge grey blue eyes meeting sky. 

  "We've talked about this, Daniel. I know you don't want to go, but you have to."

  "Why? I don't wanna be there anymore. I don't fit in at church at all. I really, really don't think anything's gonna change by making me go." 

  Sarah worried at her lip for a moment. "I know that. Your father knows that." 

  "Then why do you keep making me go?" His voice was higher now, almost as though desperation were clawing at his throat.

  "Because. You understand that even if you don't necessarily believe, some of the lessons taught in church are important, correct?"

  "...Yes." 

  "And so don't you want to keep learnin' those important lessons?"

  A pause. "Yes, ma'am." 

  "Good. So you need to keep going to church, _y'understand?_ " 

  Another pause and a sheepish, "Yes, ma'am." 

  They went back to dinner and Daniel receded in on himself the rest of it. When dinner was finished and the dishes were taken care of, he went up to his room, pulling out Rachel's copy of _'The Call of Cthulhu'_ from under his mattress. She'd let him keep it for a little longer. He had read it twice. He was practically swallowing down the information on the creature, the little facts here and there, how indescribable and horrendous it was to face. He took his time scanning through the pages, each detail soaring in his mind as he sat there quietly. He made a few notes in his notebook, and when it was time for bed, he quickly tucked the book away, but his sleep was marred with visions of Cthulhu and his own creation, Thulu, shifting in his vision and just outside of it. 

* * *

 

  
  He was now carrying one of his notebooks from home to school, shuttling it between the two locations. He spent most of his class switching from taking notes to writing his own fiction. Daniel's hands were lightning on the page and for some moments, glimpses of time, he felt like he was doing something worth doing. He sketched out Thulu's armor again, various looks for the guardian of mathematics, all incorporating the harsh lines of angles and the curves and parabolas. He was quiet while he worked on this, and when he felt he was done he would shove the notebook back into his bag. He made it to lunch feeling fine, sitting with his friends, waiting for everyone to gather. 

  The only out of place thing was that Abraham was not there.

  "You think he's sick?" Rachel asked, looking around. 

  "He's got an immune system stronger than mine, so I doubt it." Johnny shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich. He looked around and the discomfort of the moment settled among them. 

  "He's fine, probably." Patrick remarked as they all returned to their regular conversations. 

  "Wait-" A few minutes in, Daniel interjected, "wasn't he here this morning?" 

  "People get sick in the middle of class sometimes." Johnny answered, looking at Daniel, quirking his brow, "It's nothing to worry about, I'm sure." 

  "Alright." Daniel pulled out his notebook, alternating eating and writing, and they all returned to their regular conversations.  
  


* * *

 

  But something nagged at him. He went to Abraham's house after school, having to come in through the back - knowing where the key was - and smuggling himself up the stairs in silence. He got to Abraham's room before he hesitated, standing there, fist raised to knock. 

  "Abey?" He piped up, quiet at first, then again with a bit more volume. Abraham opened the door, rubbing his eyes, exhaustion riddled on his features. Daniel's eyes widened, blinking, his lips parted. "Abey... What...?"

  "Come in." Abraham shifted out of the doorway, shutting the door, and locking it. Daniel sat down on the bed of the preacher's son, usually so bright eyed and happy, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. 

  "What's wrong?" Daniel asked, concern riddling his features. Abraham inhaled, cupping his palm over the bridge of his nose. He exhaled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  "I had a bit of an... An _incident_ today, and I don't know how to talk about it, but my parents had to pick me up. I checked out early and came home." 

  Daniel sat at the edge of the bed, pressing his palms into the surface. "What kind of incident?"

  Abraham stepped forward, sitting beside Daniel, biting his bottom lip. He pulled one of his jacks from his pocket, metal and cool pinched between his fingers as he twirled it. "I don't know how to describe it, Danny. Everything was fine, y'know? And then my throat just- my throat closed up, but it _didn't._ It was like someone was sitting on my chest and everything below my knees felt almost numb and- I don't know, my neck felt stretched out and my head was all dizzy and it was... _Horrible._ I thought I was gonna _die,_ Danny." 

  Daniel listened with intense curiosity, watching how the other's expressions shifted, his arms now around his abdomen. "So that's why you weren't at lunch?"

  "Yeah." Abraham nodded. "I had to come home. The nurse said it sounded like asthma, but I don't _have_ asthma and I don't think it makes your legs below your knees numb." 

  Shaking his head, he watched the preacher's son with his usually calm face now twisted in anxiety, his white-blond hair falling in his eyes. Daniel smoothed his palm over one of Abraham's hands, then clasped his other hand under it, catching the other boy's attention. "Why do you think this happened?"

  "I don't know." Abraham admitted, biting his lip. "I don't know. It was so strange and uncomfortable and I don't..." He trailed off, quiet for a minute, before his gaze snapped to Daniel. "...Actually, I've been having these- these _thoughts_ lately. They're not good, according to my father- well, I wouldn't ever _tell_ him what I've been thinking, but they aren't good according to his doctrine, and it scares me, and I think maybe- maybe that had something to do with it?"

  Daniel watched the way his lip quivered and he desperately wanted to have the words, but he had long since stopped adhering to the doctrine Abraham's father professed, so there was nothing he could say. "What are these thoughts?" Daniel's insides twisted up as it crossed his mind that maybe, just maybe, they were in the same hell. Maybe they both had boys they loved and could not say anything for fear of the ridicule. Maybe they were both cut from the same cloth, and as he and Abraham kept their gazes locked, they didn't know but somewhere deep down it made sense. Abraham wrapped his arms lightly around Daniel, burying his face in his shoulder, eyes closed in the crux of his neck, both of them warm and shaking. 

  "I can't describe it, Danny. But just trust me that they make me feel something I've never felt, and I like it, _love it_ even, but if it's against God, what can I do?" He spoke barely above a whisper, his arms tightening around Daniel. The other pulled him closer, holding the boy who had held him many times, been his solid foundation when he needed it. He leaned his head against the other's and closed his eyes, and hoped that if they were thinking the same thoughts, they would be free one day. They couldn't live like this, they couldn't exist in this type of hell that told them they were evil, they couldn't handle this. But of course it was only wishful thinking that he and Abraham were the same, because in the end, what other hopes did he have? He couldn't tell anyone. He couldn't talk to anyone about it. And the idea of someone else feeling his pain was enough to spur the thoughts onward. All the same he would never wish his hell on anyone else, because he knew the burden he shouldered when he was with Rachel, that he couldn't find it in himself to love her how she wanted, to be what she wanted. 

  "Thanks, Danny." Abraham mumbled, pulling away all too soon despite having held on for quite some time. "I appreciate your support." He gave his characteristic smooth and soft smile and Daniel could only nod.

  "It's no problem. You're one of my best friends, after all." 

* * *

 

  
  Daniel walked home in a haze, his mind burning and his stomach turning. If Abraham was like him, they could support each other all through the next few years. But if he wasn't, Daniel couldn't tell him, and they would both be left in the dark. Maybe this was meant to prompt him to say something, but he stayed silent, and would stay silent long after. After all, a Southern Baptist upbringing changes people from who they could have been to who they are, and sometimes only for worse.


	69. Meditations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for sticking with me. If you want news, updates, backstory, and behind-the-scenes content for this fic, please check out @are-you-satisfied-fic on tumblr! Thank you!

  Rachel's fingers gripped the chain of a necklace. It draped over her fingers, lingering down a line of silvery lengths, down to a rose quartz stone clasped in bands. She sat in the floor of her bedroom, swinging it in idle motions, quiet, ankles folded over each other. The window was open despite the November chill. She had too much on her mind to let herself be warm and comfortable. Back perfectly straight, a CD in her radio of ocean waves, she kept her powder pink eyelids closed tight. 

  She had too much on her mind.

  She knew it. Daniel didn't love her in any romantic sense. And to most degrees, she didn't love him either. They were just kids. Just friends. And that's how it was meant to be from the beginning, fate's spindle spinning out webs of their relationships before her. She didn't know much other than they were guided by things neither could see. Rachel was the last person their group ever expected to be religious, and to most degrees she didn't see herself as religious like their parents. She was just Rachel, doing her thing, living her life.

  The dark hair dye had almost completely worn out of her hair, bright red peeking through a messy brown into the final edges of violet-black. It was fading and leaving and soon she would cut her hair to rid herself entirely of it. She kept her mind on the subject only as long as she could, but adjusting her breathing and her thoughts, she shifted her mind somewhere else.  
She was learning to live her life how she wanted to, but that didn't make it easier. Her mother was lenient with her only to a point, keeping Rachel out of trouble but otherwise letting her daughter explore. She couldn't ever thank her mother enough for that. And her father was doing his best to be supportive, knowing his daughter was as untraditional as he and Veronica had been as kids. Though, Rachel thought, her father wasn't even from this town. He didn't understand things around here and was open about that.

  Rachel's finger twitched to keep the quartz swinging. The track changed to another ocean sound, but it felt different, thrumming through the walls of the room. She very seldom entered deep meditations, unable to reach them with her mind racing constantly, but here she was, slowed down and plucked out of her reality. She was quiet in the dark of her own mind, sifting through thoughts like paperwork. She had wanted as of late to spend more time with Johnny. They both played baseball in their spare time, though he was now playing for the school. They both enjoyed causing chaos and were almost hooligans compared to the rest of their friends, toeing lines.

  And she found companionship with him when she felt alone. She loved everyone in her group, she did, but sometimes there was something else she needed, and Johnny was always there to lend his hand. He was smarter than he let on. He was funny, he was rough around the edges. She inhaled deeply. The smell of a rose scented candle burning on her dresser kept her alert.

  She shifted her focus.

  She wanted to know more about people she was close to, but afraid to ask the questions to get there. Perhaps this was the way it was meant to be. She stopped the slow sway of the quartz and inhaled, exhaled, and gradually brought herself out of her meditation. Slipping the necklace over her head and shutting off her stereo, she pulled on a coat and shut the window, letting the room warm from it's current state. The heat was furthered into the bedroom when she opened her door, the temperature of the rest of the house slamming into her and warming her cheeks. She stepped downstairs and found her mother in the living room, sitting on a cushion, meditating as well. 

  Rachel tip-toed to the front door, but an eye popped open, and Veronica chuckled her warm, throaty laugh.

  "What're you doing? It's freezing, put some pants on." 

  Rachel looked down at her shorts and scowled.

  "Aw, I thought I'd show off my _killer_ legs to the neighborhood boys. I _do_ have a boyfriend, after all." She jabbed, her grin twitching up as she sat on the couch, her mother's cushion in the middle of the living room floor. 

  "Yes, but that doesn't mean you need to go out and get hypothermia." Veronica replied, swinging the angel aura quartz on it's chain. She took a moment, a breath, then opened her eyes and looked at Rachel. "Oh, you were meditating, too?"

  Rachel looked down at her necklace, fidgeting with the chain. "Yeah." 

  "What about?" 

  "Hm... Not much, really. I don't know. It's weird." 

  "What's weird about it?" Veronica asked, her interest obviously piqued. Rachel sighed, hefty, tired.

  "I don't know. I don't think I love Daniel. Well, y'know- not romantically. I don't love him that way, but he's like, my best friend." 

  There were a few moments where Veronica resisted laughing until she couldn't resist it, a low and warm chortle leaving her. "Of _course_ you don't love him. You're both fourteen, you don't really... _Understand_ , yet. But if you want to break up with him, you need to be honest about it. Maybe write it out? Or if you want my advice... Just ask. I've broken boys hearts in the past." Veronica winked at her daughter, and Rachel laughed, her heart feeling lighter.

  "Yeah. I'll ask if I need advice. I was just gonna go walk and see what I could figure out."

  "Don't go outside now, it's awful. This November is shaping up to be a bad one." Veronica shook her head, her own dark red hair pulled into a loose ponytail. "Just stay inside and do your thinking around the house. Maybe while doing your laundry...?" She bore a sly grin and Rachel rolled her eyes, getting up off the couch.

  "Ughh, fine."

  "Good! And if you need me you know where to find me." Veronica said before sliding back into her meditation, closing her eyes, swinging the angel aura quartz. Rachel watched her mother quietly before leaving the living room, heading to their laundry room and pulling out the basket of her dirty clothes, sorting and tossing a load in the wash. She stood there, before sitting on the edge of the dryer, the rumbling next to her loud and low and obnoxious. But she could always think in here, a little better than in other places, at least. She closed her eyes, letting the rumbling be a guide. 

  She just wanted answers. High school work was already kicking her ass, and now she had a relationship on her shoulders. Maybe this was normal, but she was overwhelmed, and she couldn't rot her tough exterior to tell anyone else. She had to keep up her appearances, even if she was melting under the weight.


	70. Alliance

  A chilly November Wednesday brought with it the usual fumbling in of kids pulling their coats tighter, trying to escape the awful winds that swept up the wet of the recent rain. Novembers in the south were nothing like up north, merely this one was unusually cold, sinking it’s humid fangs into each person’s bones. It was the kind of cold that was ruinous to gardens. Daniel clutched the strap of his backpack in his left hand, tightening his grip, partially to feel his knuckles beneath his skin and partially to be sure he was really carrying it. He had to make a decision and it wasn't easy and it would hurt, but it was the best thing to do. He moved through the crowds of other teenagers, and glanced at the people he didn't know on either side of him. He had lived here his entire life, he had grown up with these kids, but all of them felt like strangers. He was walking in a river of strangers and he felt completely alone, as though he'd lept off a diving board and flown and soared and was now feeling the cement impact of water on his skin. 

  First class went fine. Everything was fine, normal, he was laughing and joking with his friends as usual. He was catching Rachel's glance and every time his throat swelled up with guilt and he'd make a point to laugh and joke and goof around with them quietly, never disrupting but always having fun. He made his voice as calm as possible, stringing it like a violin with words as his melody and his melody sweet. Gosh he hated this facade, but it wasn't the right time. Not yet. He shifted his posture in his desk and paid attention to the teacher and minded his business the rest of class, and then there was a break, and then there was a class. And on until lunch.

  Daniel was setting his books in his locker when Rachel grabbed his arm, her hair trimmed shorter, now a muddled brown-red. Her face was grave and tired, the curvature of her lips down. He furrowed his brow, wrinkling the space above the bridge of his nose, slowly setting his last textbook away and pulling his backpack up on his shoulder.

  "Danny, we need to talk." She exhaled, her hands on her hips.

  "Yeah?" He swallowed, closing the locker, leaning his shoulder against it. "Actually- yeah, Rachel, we do." 

  "Okay." Rachel took a moment, hesitating, looking around. "Okay, on three, same time?"

  "Okay." He nodded.

  "One, two..." They counted. Then, in unison, "I'm breaking up with you." 

  A long, long pause, the tardy bell ringing. They stood there, alone, staring at each other with their mouths posed open in quiet surprise. Rachel touched her fingers to her lips, then hands on hips, lips pursed, glance sidelong.

  "...Huh. Huh. Okay, uh," She scratched the back of her neck, "guess we're on the same page?" 

  "I uh- I guess so," Daniel nodded quickly, "gosh, Rachel, we really do think alike." He laughed, and she laughed in return, and they pulled their backpacks tight on their shoulders, fidgeting with the straps, and then walking side by side to the cafeteria. They talked as though nothing had happened but at the same time they felt something had shifted. The pressure, the weight of being together was off their shoulders, they were just friends again and it felt like the most natural transition in the world. Rachel stepped quietly through the door and the two made their way to the usual table, chatting with everyone, eating lunch and acting like nothing had happened, as though they didn't need to talk about it.

  Really, they didn't. They had known each other for so long, had been such good friends before, it was so easy to shift gears back to that friendship. Especially when there really hadn't been anything between them. They just were, they existed, they were friends, and that was the end of that tale. And everyone could see it in their eyes that a form of comfort had returned to them, and it was easy to breathe again.  
  


* * *

 

  Daniel liked to make his walk down to the river, even in the hostile chill, standing at the edge, leaning his shoulder against a tree. He watched the water ripple as it moved slow, the clouds rolling overhead and casting a cool grey over the landscape. 

  "Hey." 

  Daniel's gaze darted to Johnny, who'd been sitting at the edge of the water, a switchblade in his hand, twirling it between fingers. 

  "Hey," Daniel greeted in return, walking closer and sitting by his friend's side, watching the way he played with the switchblade, "careful, you don't wanna get a cut." 

  Johnny chuckled, rolling his eyes, "Blade's not out, don't worry. In any case, you learned your lesson the hard way," he jabbed Daniel with his elbow, and the blond laughed quietly, remembering his time trying to twirl the dagger he'd inherited not too long ago and the tiny cuts that had littered the space between his fingers. 

  "Yeah, don't repeat my mistake."

  Johnny nodded. He then stared out over the water, and Daniel shifted uncomfortably, his hands resting in the soft earth. 

  "Hey, Johnny?" 

  The other looked up, quirking a brow. "Yeah?"

  "The person you like, do they know?" Daniel posed the question delicately at the tip of his tongue. Johnny was quiet for a moment, raking his fingers through his dark curls, his blue-green eyes turned away for a moment, then back to Daniel, absently clenching his thumbnail between his teeth. 

  "No, but I don't think it matters. I'll tell 'er when I tell 'er. Y'know? And in any case, bigger fish to fry. Gonna start helping my dad out with his work, see if I'm any good at carpentry. And if not, might take up engineering. It pays well, and it's fun. I just gotta be safe on both of those."

  "Please do, don't need you losing a finger at fourteen."

  Johnny's laugh fumbled out of him, a sputtering cough like an engine coming to life. "Yeah. Well, come on, it's cold as balls out here, and I don't wanna get sick."

  "I think I'm gonna stay here and think. You go on home though, I just got here but you've been here...?"

  "A while. Yeah. Alright, see ya at church, Danny." 

  Johnny departed, making his way up the hill and through the trees, lugging one leg up and then the other to trek up the hill. Daniel was hesitant to leave. He sat there quietly, with his gaze fixated on the water, watching little fish swim and shift in the depths. He stood and stepped closer, kneeling to watch the ways that they moved in smooth and lurching motions. He had given up fishing and hunting and his family knew there was no convincing him to go again. He just wouldn't and that was that. He just wished he understood why he had seen what he had when he died, that one time, those few minutes, he had seen nothingness. And then he had come back. And he hadn't been the same.

  He watched them quietly beneath the water and said nothing. And then he rose up, wondering if they knew they would one day face the same darkness. And then he went home, partially to escape the cold, partially to get ready for church that evening. 

* * *

 

  
  November tumbled into December, molting into January and thundering it's way into February. In short, it was a lovely few months of anticipating a Baptism. 

  Not Daniel's, no, but the Taylor boys. Their parents had decided it was time. They were fourteen, they were ready. They had sat them down and explained the process and then had them go up in front of the church and declare they wanted to be baptized. Brother White had beamed at them as he usually did, sinners repenting, ready to see the light.  
It made Daniel's stomach churn.

  He had asked about it later and they explained, they had not really wanted it yet. Johnny didn't know if he wanted to be a Baptist in any sense, and Jason flat out didn't think he was ready for a Baptism. But it was decided and they marched up to the basin at the end of service in February, and Jason went first.

  He watched the water, warm steam rising from it, and stepped in. The edge of his pants leg was wet, then up to his torso, then to his rib cage. He stood, the water lifting, the water warm and keeping him steady. Brother White said the prayer he normally said, and gently dipped Jason Taylor under. He brought him up. He was now clean.

  Johnny was more hesitant. Jason was docile, Jason was tame. He was willing to do whatever his parents wanted. And it infuriated his twin brother, watching him go down. He swallowed his pride. He kept himself calm. He reached the point where he was to stand, right beside Brother White, and before the pastor could open his lips-

  "I want out." 

  Johnny's announcement was tense. It came from a throat that wasn't quite ready to say it. The entire church gazed up at him and confused murmurs passed between lips. His parents' once bright expressions turned frigid.

  "What?" Brother White rumpled up his face, confusion in his brow and his eyes and the strange curve of his mouth.

  "I. Want. Out. I don't want to be part of your _show_ anymore. This church, these _people,_ my fucking _gosh_ are y'all really gonna make me do this? Brother White, you ain't shit to me. You're all high and mighty and all you do is make my friends feel bad about ourselves-"

  _"That's enough of that,"_ the preacher snarled, but Abraham looked up, wide-eyed at his friend not in horror but in amazement. He was standing up to his father. He was standing up to the man that kept his life neatly tidied out and perfectly squared away. Now Johnny was flailing, impassioned, water splashing.

  "Y'all are so damn _brainwashed_ that you think forcing a couple a'kids to get Baptized is really gonna save their souls. Isn't soul savin' supposed to be voluntary?" His voice was higher now and louder and breaching on a yell when Brother White gripped his arm, his eyes snapping to the Taylor family, ashamed in their pews.

  "Your _other son,_ Jason, is clean. _This one,_ " he growled, "this one's got some _thinkin'_ to do." 

  And with that, he shoved Johnny up the stairs from the basin. Soaking wet, the teenager wrung out his shirt and the hem of his pants, gave his parents a solid, spiteful gaze, and looked at his brother. "Come on." he grabbed his arm, pulling him into one of the Sunday school rooms where they had planned to change out of their wet clothes.   
  


* * *

 

  Once inside, Jason heaved a sigh, his eyes wet and tired and concerned. "Johnny-" his voice was weaker in his throat now, "why the _fuck_ did you do that? We were _supposed_ to just go with it, come on! We could just live with this and even if we don't like it, we can always just get Baptized or move our letters to another church _later,_ or-"

  "Because I don't think I want to even _be_ a Baptist. I hate this institution, this fucking denomination's _choking us,_ Jason. We can't do _this,_ we can't do _that,_ we're sinning for the simplest fuckin' _thing._ It's _killing me!_ It's killing Abey, too, don't you see it? Even the preacher's son is dying under his thumb. It's bullshit, and you know it-"

  "It's bullshit but we need to keep to it for at least four more years. Gosh, why can't you just think things through for once-"

  "Because I ain't gonna be a sheep in this asshole's flock. I hate this church. I'm tired of it. Look what it's done to Danny, look what it's done to all of us!" He breathed, calming, looking at Jason who was slipping out of his wet clothes into the dry ones hanging over the chair. "Jason, you're my brother and I love you so, _so_ much. But the fact you fuckin' refuse to stand up for what you believe in, it's gonna get you killed one day." 

  "Or _you're_ just gonna end up dead because you stood for the wrong cause." Jason retorted, his face flushed with embarrassment and anger and all sorts of rage he couldn't sort. He just wanted them to stop being the outcasts. He wanted to fit in. He wanted other friends. But it looked like he couldn't have that with his brother's rebellion. He couldn't have a normal life and it became apparent in that moment that the walls between them were crumbling but slowly rising. 

  Johnny changed clothes, setting the wet ones in a plastic bag. He tied the handles of the bag neatly and then sat down in a chair, his hands pressing against his face. "Jason?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Do you hate me?"

  A while between them where neither said a word and that almost confirmed his fears, that after high school they'd split, but Jason brought his chair beside his brother and sat down, shaking his head.

  "No. I'm just really, really frustrated with you." 

  They didn't talk for a while after that. The sermon wrapped up outside and people began leaving. And as families began to depart, Daniel knocked on the door, Rachel and Abraham following close behind. 

  "Can we come in?" Rachel's voice lifted out. The door opened, and Jason shrugged.

  "We're not naked, so yeah." Johnny piped up from the chair. Nervous chuckles from everyone, and then they all stepped inside, shutting and locking the door. Abraham pulled out a chair, and everyone sat in a circle. "Where's Patrick?" 

  "His parents made him go home. He may or may not be in trouble for your stunt." Rachel shrugged. Johnny looked at all of them, and his heart tightened in his chest, a violent weight resting on it. 

  "Do y'all hate me? I know it was stupid, but gosh, I can't stay quiet when that- that man keeps makin' us fall in molds we can't fit." 

  Everyone shifted awkward glances between each other. Abraham spoke up, sliding his hand over Johnny's. "We don't hate you. Sure, this may be a bit of a... Well, an experience for all of us, but if you want my honesty, I think you did the right thing."

  Johnny looked at him, shock spilling over his features. "Dude. That's your father."

  "And my father can be an asswad. I'm well, _well_ aware. You guys don't have to deal with him at home. But you stood up for yourself, and for Danny, and for all of us. And sure, we're all in big trouble now, but it's alright. At least we have something we stand for, and we've got each other, right?"  

  The group looked at each other, blue eyes to hazel-green to brown to two pairs of blue-green. And it was decided, yes, they had each other. And they had Patrick, despite his absence. They all had each other, and that's all they needed.

  "Alright. Well, we gotta get home. Parents are gonna kick our asses, but whatever. Fuck it." Johnny said, grabbing his plastic bag of wet clothes and unlocking the door. "You guys be safe, y'hear?"

  "We will." Abraham nodded.

  Daniel watched everything as though it were a movie. Johnny had stood up for all of them, for him, he had done something very few people in this town ever would, and it was a moment that would stick in his mind forever. Even in such a small town, change was coming, and it was burning bright and right and forever, even if some flames would eventually be so bright they'd burn out. They just had to keep moving. They had to, or this town would eat them alive and everything in it would change them to people they'd never recognize. He swallowed the lump in his throat and he knew that even if the world was ending around him, he could rely on these few people in his small town.

  And he would rely on them. Through changing tides and his rise to glory and his eventual paranoid downfall, he would rely on them, forever and ever.


	71. Antioch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In addition to posting updates and bonus content on @are-you-satisfied-fic.tumblr.com , I'll also be replying to comments sent on here and questions from both here and there, so feel free to drop on by!

  Despite their break up, Daniel and Rachel were still each other's Valentine's dates. The deal they had made years ago had shaped how they treated the holiday, and shaped how they handled and planned their February's. Walking to the diner was easy, and they did so in the summer, but the February chill meant they had to be driven by Rachel's parents, who would then go window shopping and get coffee while the two teens hung out.

  "So Danny," Rachel grinned at him with her usual brightness, her hair dyed dark red to hide the shifting hues, "what'd you think of Johnny's baptism?" It was a snickering little question, one that sounded more joke than real inquisition, but Daniel shrugged his shoulders as they waited for their order.

  "I think it was interesting. I mean, he stood up to Brother White. No one stands up to Brother White." He was leaning forward, pressing arms into the table, hushing his voice. The two glanced around and nodded and Rachel's eyes were practically glowing with her excitement.

  "I know. I can't wait to see how other people react to that." She clicked her tongue and as they leaned back, the waiter brought over the orders to the two teenagers, his smile tired but kind. He'd worked here their entire lives, hair grey at the temples, and knew Daniel and Rachel well.

  "How many years are y'all gonna be each other's dates?" He joked, hands resting at his hips.

  "I dunno, maybe 'til we're married." Rachel jabbed, the three tittering as the waiter got back to work. Rachel leaned a bit closer, the table lightly digging into her. "Johnny's parents grounded him for a month and now he's gotta have counseling with Brother White, I heard."

  "You're _serious._ " Daniel choked, roughly setting down the plastic cup of water.

  "Dead."

  "Gosh." He shook his head, worrying at his lip. A moment passed, and he hooked his index finger over his chin, gaze falling to just outside the window of their booth, staring out at the street. He turned his attention back to Rachel, finger still resting curled up at his chin. His lips were parted slightly, words teetering at the edge but unable to plunge until he figured them out perfectly. "Do his parents realize that _maybe_ having him in counseling with the man he yelled at is probably not the best idea?" He quirked his brow. Rachel rolled her eyes, plucking up a fry and biting on it.

  "Yeah, no, I don't think they do." She shook her head. "He's going to be drilling the Bible into his skull with power tools if he has to." Rachel remarked. Daniel snorted, sipping his water. He felt terrible for this reaction, a sick feeling congealing in his gut, but at the same time, Rachel was grinning, and the guilt melted partially.

  "I just want things to be okay for him." Daniel breathed, "He's a good kid, he did the right thing... Maybe not in the best way, but standing up to Brother White takes guts. I can't count on any hand how many people've done that."

  "Me too. And it's not like-" Rachel inhaled, taking a moment, exhaling and ruffling her fingers through her hair, "-it's not like he's the worst preacher on earth. I mean, come on, Jim Jones existed. He just rubs me the wrong way. Like he's got something on his horizon, y'know? Something bad. And... I don't know, Danny, it gives me a bad feeling."

  He couldn't help but agree. They finished their dinners and tried to switch to lighter conversations but it wasn't working, like they were just held under by what they knew. And they kept their mouths shut about it in the presence of so many people, but all the same it was the creeping fingers that latched to them, those thoughts of what if and why and how.

* * *

  
  
  They went back to Rachel's house after dinner, ascending the stairs to her room and sitting in her bedroom floor, the walls already bearing many posters for bands that he wasn't particularly fond of but that Rachel adored. Nirvana, Evanescence, Violent Femmes and Depeche Mode all stared down at them from different parts of the room, a bundle of dried oak-leaved Geraniums hanging down from one corner of her vanity mirror. She slipped her hands under her bed and pulled out her mom's old walkman CD player, putting some batteries in and grabbing the headphones.

  "I found something in the attic the other day, I think you'd wanna hear it," her smile was sprawling across her face, waiting for Daniel to put the headphones on. He slipped them over his head, fumbling to get them on his ears, waiting patiently as he bit at his lip. Rachel pressed _PLAY_ , and at first there was nothing but motion and soft commotion.

  And after a moment, there was sound. And it was something unlike anything he'd heard before. It was a church choir, he knew it only because he also recognized some of the voices. And among the voices was the unmistakable voice of his mother, younger by the sound of it, her tone full and warm. The hymnal was going in rounds. It was one he didn't recognize. He couldn't place there being words and at first thought they were speaking in tongues - something he didn't think the Southern Baptist Church actually did - until it became clear they were singing notes. Scales. Warming up. And then there was a sound like someone keeping time, feet hitting the wooden floors, everything reverberating, everything pounding.

  And the first voice to sing words, one he knew with utmost certainty and the kind of recognition that hit him in the chest full-force, unmistakably, was his father. He had never heard his father sing. He didn't know he had even been in choir. He just knew that voice, not so tired but full of life. And he was the first to start.

 _"I know that my Redeemer lives,"_ the words sucker-punched Daniel in the stomach, his shock evident on his face, hands clasping over the headphones. And after his words there was a chorus of, _"glory, hallelujah!"_ And then his father again. And then a chorus. And it went back and forth until another verse, where his mother sang, bright and warm and rich and then the voices faded from just them to all of the others in the choir, and it became clear this wasn't a normal choir performance. It was likely candidly recorded, or at the very least it was recorded with only intent to be heard by a few. It was a hymnal he had heard once, only once, at his grandmother's funeral. This performance wasn't meant to be heard by anyone but those in the church, and then when Veronica's voice came through, it was just as he imagined, sweet and kindly and like wings of a hummingbird.

  The solo's became the entire choir, and soon no voice could be plucked from another's.

  _"He lives to crush the fiends of hell;_

_Glory, Hallelujah!_

_He lives and doth within me dwell;_

_Glory, Hallelujah!"_

  And after a few more verses, and all too soon, it was over. Rachel pressed _STOP_ and gently removed the headphones from Daniel's head. The blond turned to her, incredulous, wordless.

  "My mom and your dad used to be decent friends I think, and she told me one time my dad filmed them performing from the balcony and it was their little secret. She got the audio onto a CD. I think this was from 1987? '88?" Rachel popped the CD out and examined it, then shrugged. "Anyways. I thought you'd wanna hear it! I know your dad's never sung in the choir, or in our memory, but I thought it'd be cool if you could hear him."

  Daniel was entirely wordless for a while, before he brought himself up on shaky legs and sat on the bed. He had never heard something so intense, so alive, so beautiful and bright and so encouraging. Everyone in that choir believed every single word they were singing. They were fully and wholly involved in it. The redhead stared at him, and furrowed her brow eventually, worry coating her voice. "Daniel?"

  "I'm fine-" He shook his head, "-just kind of... Wow."

  "Yeah, wow. There's more on this CD if you wanna... Take it home or, I don't know, maybe I could make a copy? I can burn CDs on my dad's computer. Do you have a CD player?"

  "Yeah, in my room. It's old."

  "This one's from '94, so not that much better." Rachel chuckled, slowly sliding it back under the bed.

  "Okay. Uh, how do you make another CD?"

  Rachel gestured for him to follow her, and they walked quietly down the stairs. Her father was looking over folders from the accounting firm, sucking in his cheek. She asked if they could use the computer and he obliged, and got up from the desk, stretching, back cracking.

  "What're you kids up to today?" Arthur asked with a smirk.

  "I'm making Danny a copy of that CD. He's never heard his dad sing."

  "Oh, wow. Yeah, Gideon had a pretty fantastic voice in college. Then again, that's when he was pretty invested in the whole church thing."

  "He was?" Daniel quirked his brow. Arthur rolled his wrist.

  "I think that's for him to tell you about. Essentially though, your dad loved church. And Jesus, and hymns, and all o'that."

  Rachel had set the CD into the disc drive and placed another in the second one, a blank CD, and began to copy the files. She turned in the spinny chair as she waited, slouching down. "Dad, do we have any of the video of that performance?"

  "Yeah, I think it's in the attic, too. I'll get it down sometime."

  "Oh hell yeah! Nice." Rachel clicked her tongue and fingergunned, Daniel watching with amusement as he looked to Arthur.

  "Why were they even singing that day?"

  "Brother White was on a mission trip, and your dad knew a bunch of seminary students. They all got together and decided it'd be fun to rehearse some hymnals to, I don't know, relieve stress. And Veronica was interested and asked me to tag along. We were dating then, actually, and I brought a camera and some audio equipment and set up out of sight before anyone got there. I filmed the whole thing, and... it was amazing, actually. The video still gives me goosebumps. Your dad was super into music back then."

  Daniel was having a hard time processing everything. In his mind, it made sense. His father had played guitar, he knew, but had stopped almost out of nowhere. And he knew that when he was young his father wasn't nearly the same person he is now. He knew all of this and yet his brain was putting the pieces together like they were misshapen, getting an odd and jittery portrait of his father's life.

  "Done," Rachel pressed a button and the disc ejected, writing in sharpie 'CHOIR 1987 (or '88) For Daniel' and handing it to him, "take care of it, I don't wanna make another copy."

  "If you need a case to put it in, I've got some empty ones," Arthur gestured with his thumb behind him to the closet that had once housed Rachel's clothes, now for work and for various miscellaneous items. Daniel thanked him and Arthur retrieved a clear CD case, setting the recording neatly inside.

* * *

 

  
  He walked home later that evening and as soon as he got inside, reality hit him square in the face. His mother was not young and bright and kindly. She was tired, and spiteful in some manner, and busy. She was working on her laptop again, seated comfortably on the couch, biting at her lip. Her nails had a fresh coat of red paint that matched her lips, her hair pinned neatly back.

  "Oh, welcome home, Daniel." She greeted with a forced upward curve of the lips, flashing white teeth, before she turned her attention back to her screen. They chatted absently for a few minutes, before Daniel started his way upstairs.

  "Oh- your father's sleeping, so be quiet." She advised. He nodded, knowing he wasn't just sleeping, knowing the hangover he'd probably have in the morning. He was quiet as he moved up to his room, shutting the door and changing into his pajamas, and grabbing his CD player from a drawer. He pulled the CD case from the inner pocket of his coat, plucking out the disc and setting it into the player and pulling on his headphones, laying back on his bed and letting the music fill up his brain.

 _"I know that my Redeemer lives! GLORY, HALLELUJAH...!"_  
  
  There were other hymns on the CD, but the first one was his favorite. He recognized many of them well enough, but the first one was the one he kept coming back to. He'd find out the name of it eventually, but he laid there in his bed, letting himself drift. He may not believe, he may not be part of the church nor did he want to, but this was the closest thing to religion he would feel for a few more years. The closest he'd come to feeling holy until one fateful day in college when the world was shoving him down, and he finally found the path that would lead him to salvation, his own self-made salvation.


	72. A Fight to Pick

_But when he became strong, his heart was so proud that he acted corruptly, and he was unfaithful to the LORD his God, for he entered the temple of the LORD to burn incense on the altar of incense._  
 _-2 Chronicles 26:16_  
  
  Things were not so picturesque for Johnny Taylor. Every Wednesday and Sunday he was required to meet with Brother White in his office after evening service and to discuss why he had acted out. Why he had hurled his words as far as he could. Why he was throwing stones. Why he was breaking walls. Why why why why

  And every time he came away more angry more frustrated more ready to hit the pastor than he went into the meetings. Spiritual counseling was supposed to soothe the soul, to make all things better, to heal. But he felt hurt, like a scab was being peeled and picked and pulled completely back and the blood was red as wine. He would get in the car, Brother White driving him home, and seethe in the back seat next to Abraham.

  "Hey," Abraham whispered on one of these car rides, his hand clasped over Johnny's, "I know this is gonna sound like a load of-" he glanced to his father, then to Johnny, lowering his voice, "-a load of _shit_ coming from me, but I'm glad you're fighting back." 

  Johnny stared at him in disbelief. This was the preacher's own son, his flesh and blood, how could he be glad that he was fighting against his father? No matter. Johnny was too emotionally exhausted to handle it. It was a beating drum hammering on in his brain, the prayers he was meant to say at the end of every meeting now merging into one. Now congealing and forming a stagnant mass of something putrid in himself. Every prayer was taken not from the Gospels but from the very Gospel of Rev. Cooper Bryant White. Whether or not anyone saw him as egotistical was irrelevant. It was clear to Johnny he believed something deeper than in himself, yes. He believed in a higher power. It was clear that Brother White believed with all his heart and soul and tongue and every ounce of his mind in the God he worshiped.

  Only it was a God he worshiped with a half-heart, upside-down, reverse, the inverted meaning. It was the God that he had found in the hearts of those who had no higher love. It was the God of the ones who condemned despite God's decree not to judge. Brother White had convinced the town the doctrine declared that people unlike them were to only be half-loved. Hate the sin love the sinner hate the sin love the sinner-

  Johnny's footsteps woke Jason up.

  Jason had gone to bed early, his eyes facing the wall of his room. The bathroom door slamming down the hall had startled him from his sleep. He bolted upright and waited. One. Two. Three. Four breaths. He then heard a door opening and then another closing. He inhaled, slow, hold. Exhale. 

  He climbed out of bed and made his way down one door, knocking quietly, then louder. Johnny opened it, having changed into a t shirt and some shorts, faded blue. He stared at his twin, almost a perfect mirror of himself, almost. Jason had been more of an artist from the start, his arms not built for baseball or basketball but for painting and the quiet act of creation. Johnny sucked in his cheek, frowning.

  "What?"

  "You woke me up." Jason commented calmly.

  "So?" Johnny scoffed, quirking his brow. Jason folded his arms over his chest.

  "How did it go?" 

  Johnny ducked his head out the door. Jason waited. When his brother invited him in, he shut the door and watched as Johnny sat on the bed, hunched over, elbows digging into his leg.

  "I fucking _hate_ the pastor." He hissed out. Jason rolled his eyes, pulling out Johnny's desk chair.

  "And?"

  "I wish he'd just learn he's full of shit."

  "He doesn't know he's full of shit, Johnny." Jason replied, his frown mirroring the other's. A sharp palette knife of a line. "He thinks he has the answers, the ticket to Salvation. You know that." 

  Johnny clasped his hands behind his head, fingers meeting and grasping. He then let his hands fall to his sides, sitting upright, his eyes narrowed. "He's wrong though. He's so dead wrong his own son doesn't even like his teachings." 

  "Abraham's always been an independent thinker. That's why we all get along." Jason chuckled as he ruffled his fingers through his hair. "But you need to just... Chill out. Calm down. It won't last forever, you know. We'll be in college in four years give or take. It's not like we're gonna be stuck in Brother White's church forever-"

  "You think that, but you don't know. For all we know, all our plans will fall through and we'll just be right back where we started, in this shithole town in the middle of fucking nowhere. It's like-" He inhaled sharp, exhaled with a rueful and breathy laugh, "-it's like we're all fuckin' cursed to be in this town 'til we die." 

  "I don't see it that way...?"

  "Open your eyes, you're my own brother for heaven's sakes. In any case it's not like all of us can escape this place. I just- I want to stop having to- I don't know. I don't know, I just don't want to be here. I don't wanna be in his church, I don't wanna be part of his stupid little choir and his stupid little group of parishioners and I just wanna leave, Jason. All I wanna do is get outta here. If all pastors are like Brother White, if what he says is true..."

  "Don't say it," Jason interjected, "don't. I know what you're saying, but you need to hear me. He's not the only pastor. This isn't the only church. For heaven's sakes, you could've just gone along with the baptism and let it be! You could've just fought back later, or moved your letter to another church, or-"

  "Oh, and stand by and let that egotistical fuckhead run everything? Let him run my life?"

  "No- that's not what I mean at all," 

  "It sure sounds like that's what you mean."

  "Well it isn't." Jason stated, harshly cut words slamming into the floor. The two of them glared at each other, before Jason got up. "You're hopeless. All you really want is another fight to pick." He rolled his eyes as he went to the door, gripping the knob and inhaling. He had to say something. He wanted to say something. Instead, he left the room. 

  Johnny watched and waited and when the other was gone, he pulled a pillow to his face and silently groaned into it, aggravation slipping through his lips. He laid down on his bed, his eyes locked on the ceiling.

  An hour passed. Two hours. He couldn't fall asleep. 

  Jason knocked on the door. Johnny let him in.

  "Hey," he mumbled. He was sleepy, but calm, "do you wanna maybe go get donuts?"

  They had always fought like this. The whole world could be ending around them, and then the next thing they know they're good again, going out to do something. Johnny looked at him quietly, before he nodded, his own switchblade grin on his lips; as sharp as ever, as smart as ever, ready to talk back at any moment.

  "You buy, I'll drive." 

  He was fourteen. He didn't have a permit. He wasn't even old enough for a permit. But he did drive all the same, having been practicing since he was twelve. Jason had decided to abide by the rules, waiting until the upcoming summer to begin his own driving lessons. He ducked into his room to retrieve his wallet and his jeans, slipping them on and tucking the wallet in the back pocket. Johnny had dressed himself in the meantime, and the two slipped out of the house and started the car. 

  Their parents would be furious if they found out. Even though he'd been driving, he usually had supervision. But it didn't matter to them. They just wanted to calm down, and they wanted donuts at twelve in the morning as Sunday transitioned into Monday.

* * *

 

  
  They returned home from a Walmart not too far from their town, the drive taking twenty minutes both directions. They'd grabbed a small bag of powdery donuts, the white sugar coating their fingers as they laughed and ate and joked with each other. 

  Johnny would still have his meetings with Brother White. But Abraham and his brother had encouraged him to just hang on. Fight back, but hang on. He'd do his best, but no promises. 


	73. Infamous Tale

  By some miracle, they claimed, they had all survived the ninth grade. 

  It had ended in a bombardment of tests, more homework than they could have imagined, and the Algebra state test. But it was all over the final day in May, the school's dress code forbidding shorts and spaghetti strapped tops, despite the summer heat scathing them. The final day of school was spent in the cafeteria, waiting patiently for either their parents to pick them up or for school to end, whichever happened first. 

  "So what'd you guys think of this year?" Rachel asked, turning to her friends. Abraham was clutching his backpack to his chest, letting it rest in his lap, chewing gum. He shrugged.

  "I think it was fuckin' weird," Patrick replied with a large shrug of his shoulders, "like don't get me wrong, it was hell, but so much of it was just... Weird. Like the kind of weird like you're in a fog, or something." 

  His description was accepted with a few agreeing nods. Jason looked up from his sketchbook, his pencil poised between his fingers. 

  "Art was good, though. I'm taking it next year."

  "Yeah? Cool," Patrick grinned, "you still need to teach me how to draw." 

  Jason chuckled, "Maybe. I don't think I'd be a good teacher, I'm afraid, but I'll try my best." 

  "So you'll teach _him_ but not _me?_ Wow, cold." Johnny shook his head, but his grin was playful, a little bit of a jab at his brother. Jason rolled his eyes, closing his sketchbook. 

  "You never asked, doofus." He joked, then set his sketchbook into his backpack, putting away his pencils. "You like more practical skills anyways, you wouldn't have a good time learning to draw." 

  "Why not?" 

  "Because learning to draw requires a lot of patience and attention to detail, which you only apply when you're able to get your hands dirty. Unless you're using charcoal or paint, your hands are usually fairly clean when you draw." 

  Johnny rolled his eyes, but didn't respond that time. Daniel watched all of them, but he was working on something in his notebook away from the others, his writing more scribbles than anything, his ideas pouring out of him.

  Rachel eventually reached over, gripping the top of the notebook to bend it so she could see some of the writing, a grin sprawled on her lips.

  "Hey, what's this, Danny?"

  "Nothing," he tried to bring his notebook out of her grasp but she held on tighter, tugging it.

  " _Nothing_ sounds like _something_. Is this that notebook you were working in a while back?" 

  "...Yeah," Daniel replied, albeit a little sheepishly, before he looked at the others. The cafeteria was illuminated by the light from the gigantic, floor-length windows on the other end, the ceiling lights hardly necessary. The walls were a bright cream color, bricks underneath giving it a roughly smooth texture. The floors were the same, boring, grey-blue linoleum they had been at the middle school, and nothing felt real aside from their little group in the room. 

  "Well, let me see, then!" Rachel insisted. Daniel finally relented, giving her the notebook. She buried her nose in it, all of them waiting for her response as her eyes rapidly scanned the pages. After a while, she gave it back to him, her smirk wide, eyes gleaming. "Yeah, it's a bunch of nerd shit. But it's cool so far!" 

  "Thanks." He said, before setting it away. He didn't like making it obvious he'd taken an interest in Sci-Fi because of her, but thanks to her providing him with those books, he'd gotten fascinated with the genre.

  Abraham stood, spit his gum out into a trash bin, and then sat back down, clearing his throat. "Seniors aren't as bad as I thought." He finally spoke, looking at his friends. They had gotten used to his odd habit, that he couldn't speak and chew gum at the same time, something that had been part of him since childhood that now seemed mundane. 

  "Yeah?" Patrick quirked his brow.

  "Yeah, I'm gonna miss some of them. They're graduating, after all, meaning I won't see the ones that were nice to me likely ever again."

  "Aw, but you still got us, Abey!" Rachel draped her arm around his shoulder and he laughed, shoving it off. 

  "Yeah, I still do, don't I?" He straightened out his shirt, setting his backpack on the ground. He had grown a few more inches this semester, a little taller than Jason and Johnny, but not quite as tall as Patrick and Daniel. All of them were still youthful and small looking, with cherubic faces and wide eyes. It was interesting, to look at the group and remember how they looked in old photos as opposed to now, and he was almost excited to see how much they changed in the oncoming years. 

  "You can't get rid of us that easy." Rachel snorted, running her fingers through her hair. "It's like we're all... I don't know," she rolled her wrist, snapping her fingers to find the words, "like we're all bound at the hip or something! Just one big group chain, and none of us can escape." 

  There were collective laughs from everyone, and soon, their parents picked them up one by one. As the group at the table got smaller, the anticipation was building for that night. Rachel had invited everyone over to her house to read some Harry Potter fanfiction she'd been building up to for weeks, and the mounting excitement was overflowing to all of them. They would then probably watch a movie, and everyone was planning to stay the night.

* * *

 

  
  That afternoon, each one of them departed their houses for Rachel's, and once upstairs to her room, she turned on her desktop (one she'd gotten as a birthday present) and her eyes were so bright they could be mistaken for lightbulbs, her absolutely ecstatic attitude electrifying all of them. 

  "Okay, what're you gonna show us, Rachel?" Daniel already had a vibe about this, and it wasn't good.

  "Sit down, sit down," she told Daniel, pushing him gently into her chair, "now open this bookmark, that one, yeah."

  "Fanfiction dot net?" 

  "Yeah! That one. Okay. You ready, guys?" She turned to the others, and her voice was higher in pitch, her heart thundering in her chest. The gold sunlight filtering through her window was adding to the dramatic air of it all, her door closed, the others sitting in the floor, turned to Daniel.

  "Uh... Sure!" Abraham finally said, the first to speak, nodding. Rachel turned to Daniel.

  "Start with the name." She instructed, her fingers gripping his shoulders. Daniel waited for a moment, leaning a bit closer to the screen.

  " _My Immortal?_ "

  "Yeah! Okay, this fic is called _My Immortal_. It's a Harry Potter one, and oh my gosh it's something fucking else. Oh my gosh. Okay, Daniel! Please, I'm literally begging with my life, read the author's note." 

  He skimmed it, and his face fell. His heart settled with the horror of what they were about to read, and he blinked a couple of times. 

  "Rachel- oh my gosh, this is _terrible!_ "

  "I know!" She practically squealed, before looking at her audience of now-victims, subjected to her experiment of sharing the absolute worst fanfiction she'd ever found, one that was now infamous in most circles. "Okay, if Danny won't read it, who will?"

  Abraham's hand immediately shot up. "I love Harry Potter, so bad Harry Potter fanfiction sounds fun." 

  Rachel stared at him, then her brows furrowed, and she shook her head slightly, "Oh, you poor, sweet thing. Okay. Come on up, my sacrifice." 

  "What?"

  "Nothing."

  Abraham sat down in the chair once Daniel had gotten up, and he cleared his throat.

  "...Do... Do I _have_ to read the author's note?"

  "Yes, that's part of it!"

  He inhaled, exhaled, and clenched his teeth for a moment, cursing himself for volunteering. He made it through the author's note, and now the real fun began. " _Hi,_ " he read, " _My name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way, and..._ " the description of Ebony went on for quite a bit, and when the first chapter came to a close, he stood up. The others had fallen into the floor at some point, either laughing or groaning in horror, and to Abraham, it much resembled the bodies of people sprawled out after a crime, killed by both the terrible writing and the fact that Rachel had dragged them all over just to read this. Rachel, meanwhile, was standing and beaming at him. 

  "You need to read the next one."

  "No! Gosh, you're twisted!"

  "It's funny, dude, it's fucking hilarious."

  "It is, but- _golly!_ You had me thinking this was like some sort of Edgar Allen Poe piece of fanfiction, not... Whatever this is."

  "It's it's own brand of bad."

  "Yes! Gosh."

  Abraham sat down on the bed, and after some time, Patrick got up. "I'm not a coward, I'll read it for you guys." 

  Although there were many protests from the others - except Rachel, who became the devil on his shoulder - he sat down and continued through chapters two, three, four, five, six, and seven before finally giving up. And so it went, in rotations, all of them reading a chapter or two for a while, before they went downstairs for dinner, sufficiently traumatized and amused from the horrible thing they had just read. 

  Otherwise, it was a calm night for them. The group ate pizza and watched a few movies, before going up to Rachel's room and talking into the late hours, one by one pulling up blankets and sleeping in the floor on pillows they'd brought from their houses, and all silently praying they'd not have dreams about Ebony, or Enoby, or whatever her name was. 

  Daniel pulled out his notebook from his bag once almost everyone was asleep, scribbling down a few things he was thinking about for his own writing. The Andromedean Republic was coming out nicely, a universe apart from this one, where there was an intergalactic emperor named Zoxos. He didn't have much beyond that, but that he wasn't the best ruler. He'd taken his name from the name of something Abraham mentioned he might be taking - zoloft, but Abraham had not given him any information on it beyond the name - and tweaked it to sound more like a name for a person, or in this case, an alien. He sat there quietly writing until he eventually felt sleep overtake him, laying down and watching all of his friends, most of which asleep or almost there. He loved spending time with them, even if it resulted in reading terrible fanfiction, but he had to wonder where they would all be in a few years. Would they still be friends? He hoped so. He hoped so. Even if it wasn't meant to be, he hoped more than ever that they would remain part of his life.


	74. The World Was Right

  They had packed up their things that morning before stepping down for breakfast. Veronica and Arthur had made a nice meal for all of them, and once all was done, one by one the boys left the house. They could walk to their own houses after all, no need to wait on parents to come pick them up. But Daniel, hesitant as always, stayed until later that morning. Rachel pulled him into the living room, pulled out an old VHS, and slid it into the VCR. She changed the channel on the television.

  "This is that tape I told you about," she explained, enthusiasm in her eyes. And then after a few moments, the images went from black to static to the view of an out-of-focus assortment of colors and shapes milling about on the stage. Then after a moment, zooming in and focusing, they were visible as people. Gideon was among them, but Daniel was squinting, scooting closer to the television to get a view. He couldn't see him clearly. Which one was his father? There were several with brown hair, and several blonde girls, which one was his mother? 

  And then they started singing, and it was apparent who was who, and he felt stopped in time. His father's motions were so lively, so bright and sprightly, his then-slim and tall frame looking so odd on the man Daniel knew as more stocky, shoulders that were held high in the video nowadays sagging and tired. In the tape, behind the screen, in another time, he didn't wear glasses and his mouth was in a wide and unfathomably bright smile. And then his mother sang, and he recognized her, and the world held still for Daniel and this vision of the people he knew but didn't know. 

  Rachel watched Daniel, trying to gauge his reaction. Was this a positive shift in his posture, the lean forward, the furrow of his brow, slight parting of the lips as though begging a question. The hymn faded into another and Rachel took her time to gently grip his shoulder. Daniel flinched, then reality grappled with his mind and mouth to fumble out words but nothing came out. 

  "Are you okay?" Rachel swallowed, nerves now quickening her pulse. Daniel sat there, nodded, and shifted back from the screen.

  "Yeah."

  "Uh... You sure? I can turn it off-"

  "No- I mean, please, don't." 

  A pause, and Rachel then took a breath, deep in her lungs, drawing it in and then hurling it out with a sigh. "Alright." 

  They watched the tape to completion, an hour of a bunch of college students - most of them in seminary, Arthur had said - singing hymnals for fun, unaware their excitement and glee and worship was filmed on a balcony.

  The view was superb despite the grainy quality of the video. It hit Daniel then that the church, Iron Chapel Baptist, had no balcony inside. It wasn't nearly big enough. It was small and quaint and quiet, not needing anything like extra steps or extra levels. Daniel sat back for a minute, and once the tape came to an end, he looked at Rachel.

  "Did your dad ever say where this was filmed?"

  "Uh... 'dunno, but I can ask him!" Rachel bounced up, brushing off her legs and moving out of the room, bounding up the stairs. She returned a few minutes later, leaning over the railing, arm resting hard on the wood. "He said it was in like, in Atlanta, he thinks. Your dad went to college in Atlanta, right?"

 _No. No._ Daniel was quiet for a while because _no,_ according to his parents, Gideon had gone to college in a community college about an hour from Cain, maybe an hour and a half. Atlanta was too far. That didn't make sense, but then maybe he knew people there, maybe he'd been friends with people there - the people in the video - and maybe that was just the way it was. Confused but trying to fill in the gaps, Daniel only shook his head. 

  "Uh... I really don't know?" 

  "Mmkay. Maybe you should ask." Rachel suggested as she sat down on the carpet next to him again. They talked about the video, about the eighth grade and how it compared to the ninth, how they would be sophomores in a few months and how unreal that seemed. Daniel had never foreseen being older, being in high school, it just didn't make sense to him because in his memories he was still a little kid with skinned knees and too much energy.

  Maybe that's just how it was, but he didn't care much to voice these thoughts. He and Rachel parted when it was clear the noon was going to fade into evening soon, and he gathered his things and left, making the small walk home. 

  He didn't talk much when he did get home. He went up to his room and started back up on what he had been writing the night prior. Zoxos was the emperor of the Andromedean Republic, and he was a sort of god, maybe. He was renowned for how well he loved his people, and took care of them, and heard them out and made sure they felt cared for. It was idealistic, just the thoughts of a rambling teenage boy, but the thoughts still came to him. _When had his father been in Atlanta?_ He didn't ask even at dinner, when his mother and father chatted about how the summer was going to be a good one, how they were excited for Daniel's sophomore year.

  Dinner ended. He went back to his room. He took out his grandmother's dagger and unsheathed it, examining the old blade. It had been polished recently, he was taking better care of it than he thought he would, than anyone thought he would. He saw his own reflection in it's surface and then set it on his desk, sitting on his bed. He didn't know what he was going to do with it. Keep it? Sell it? It was an heirloom, the only right thing to do was keep it. 

  So he decided he would. Maybe. For now. But he couldn't get that same damn question off his mind. _Why had his father been in Atlanta? They'd been singing in the church for fun, but why?_

  He couldn't relax even when he laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, tired but not tired. 

  This was too weird. But nothing he couldn't handle. 

  Besides, tomorrow he'd be hanging out with Patrick, and that always made him feel better. It got everything out of his mind besides the moment.  
  


* * *

 

  The next day, he showered and threw on some better clothes and left his house after breakfast. He walked to Patrick's, and when the other was ready, they set out for town. They were going to go wander for a bit, get lunch at Lafayette's, and then wander some more. They had a whole summer ahead, why waste it? 

  "So Danny, what'd you think of My Immortal?" Patrick snickered. Daniel rolled his eyes.

  "I hated it, holy crap," He scrunched up his nose, "I'm glad it got deleted from the main account. Now all we need is the reupload to be gone." 

  Patrick laughed, resting his hand on Daniel's back, a comfortable touch. "Yeah, true, but it makes Rachel happy. She loves Ebony. Or Enoby. Or Enorby-"

  "I get it," Daniel interjected, snorting. 

  "Or TaEbony, or-"

  "Patrick, oh my gosh-"

  "-Ebory, Enony-"

  "Patrick!" Daniel gently cupped his hands over Patrick's mouth, but he kept going, muffling out every typo of Ebony's name he could think of, repeating them as they walked, shoving each other (Patrick trying to remove Daniel's hands, Daniel trying to keep them over his mouth) and laughing through it all, though Patrick's laughs came out as stifled breaths. Finally, he stopped talking, and Daniel slowly let his hands lower.

 _"...Eboby!"_ Patrick shouted. Daniel spluttered and shoved his hands over Patrick's mouth, both now cackling as they made their way out of their neighborhood and on their way to town, Patrick slamming his arm around Daniel's shoulders, pulling him down and mussing up his hair, Daniel grabbing his shirt to pull him down into the ground. They didn't fall, but stumbled around until they both regained their footing. Eventually, Patrick let go, Daniel working quickly to rake his fingers through his hair and neaten it up.

  "How do I look?"

  "Like you used a leaf blower as a hair dryer." Patrick smirked, his hands on his hips.

  Daniel cracked his neck, leaning it to the side, "Well, not exactly my fault, is it?" _Crack._

  "Woah dude," Patrick raised his hands, palms out, defensively, "it's all your fault. Come on, you love Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way as much as I do."

  "Oh my gosh, no, she scares the hell out of me."

  "Heh." Patrick snorted. "Scares the _hell_ out of you?"

 _"Stop...!!"_

  Patrick couldn't take it. His arms went over his midsection, bending over, laughing so hard his face turned red, "Danny! She scares the _hell_ out of you!"

  "Gosh. _Really?"_

  "She scares the- the-" He let out another loud wheeze of laughter, regaining his composure, then sighing whistfully, "I'm not running on a lot of sleep, dude, _everything's_ funny." 

  Daniel wrinkled up his brow, frowning. "Why?"

  "Just didn't sleep, stayed up." Patrick shrugged. Daniel was quiet, before his face settled into a rather bemused frown. 

  "You spent all night trying to find out who Tara is, didn't you." It was a statement, and by Patrick's face, it was true. 

  "Aw man, come on, you wanna know as badly as I do!"

  "Do I?" Daniel rolled his eyes.

  "Yes!" 

  "Nope." 

  "Come on," Patrick whined, gripping Daniel's shoulders from behind as they walked, "We gotta know! For all we know, she could be in our high school! We could be _friends_ with her!" 

  A long pause settled over them as they were standing outside a small clothing shop, their expressions of stricken shock reflected in the glass, grey cement made blue, blue skies made bluer.

  "You don't think _Rachel_ wrote it, do you?" Daniel snapped his gaze to Patrick. Patrick was entirely silent for a minute, then slid his lips between his teeth, eyes wide. He parted his lips with a pop, and didn't speak, just stood there, agape for a moment before pressing his fingertips together. 

  "I... Huh. Hm. Maybe?"

  Daniel hooked his index finger over his chin. After a moment, Patrick got another sort of grin on his lips. "Hey." He turned Daniel by the shoulders to face the storefront glass. Their reflections were standing calm and bright. Patrick behind Daniel, a little taller than he. Daniel, watching how close the other was, felt his pulse jump. Oh boy. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat as Patrick slid his fingers up, past his cheeks, past his forehead, then under his bangs. He lifted them gently with his fingers, tilting the newly made faux-pompadour with his hands carefully, a few strands falling free. 

  "Looks pretty good on you." He surmised after a minute of examination. Daniel watched as his reflection turned slowly pink in the face, but if anyone asked it was the heat. It was the heat of the Georgia sun despite them being in the shade, not the heat of Patrick's body so near his own, the head of his hands in his hair, the heat of a hand near his face. His chest hurt. 

  "Yeah," Daniel choked out. Patrick stopped. 

  "You good?"

  "It's hot." Daniel jerked away from Patrick, stepping back. "Do you wanna go ahead and get something to drink?" 

  "Uh... Sure." 

* * *

 

  They headed to Lafayette's, the diner they had been going to since childhood, and ordered lemonades. Daniel sat in one seat, Patrick across from him, the booth their own private world. It felt too much like a date, and all Daniel could think about was if Patrick had dressed a little nicer, if Daniel had dressed nicer, _this could be a date._ Two boys in rural Georgia with love in their hearts and eyes for each other. But he had to dismiss those thoughts quickly. He knew what being in love with a man in the south would get him. He had to play his cards right, but the anxiety was eating him, and his heartache was eating him. But they ate a lunch there and sipped their lemonades and went on their way, paying and tipping well and then wandering the town further, exploring little shops, making a day of it, talking of nothing and everything, and for one day the world was right. Even if the carpet would soon be pulled from beneath their feet, the world was right for now, and that was all that mattered.


	75. Heretical

_Lazarus._

  He still hated being called it. His family didn't, at least not his immediate family. They had stopped once he'd said what he did not see. Gideon had surmised that if he had not seen anything in his experience, then there was no point in calling him the name of a man resurrected by Jesus. He had been resurrected, but by what, Gideon nor Sarah could say.

  Wednesday church service was different.

  Brother White always insisted on addressing him as an alternation between Daniel and Lazarus - _well you were saved from hell, weren't you? Well Jesus raised you up, didn't He?_ \- and Daniel bit his tongue. He sat in the pews and he listened to the sermons and he sang the hymns and bit his tongue. It was bittersweet and vinegar on his lips; sibling to the wine of communion but so bitter and raw and wrathful. He just kept up the act. 

  But then that Wednesday, with Johnny's regular counseling, Daniel was called back to Brother White's office. It was done at the end of service, when most families were departing the small church, through Abraham. He only told the Hubbard's to wait up, to hold on for a minute. Abraham then went back to his father, and surely soon enough, Brother White from the doorway gestured with his finger and a call of his name, "Daniel." 

  He swallowed. His throat felt tight. Abraham was already in the office, waiting. Brother White was impatient, his lowered gaze behind his glasses icy. Sarah gave Daniel a small shove, and so he stepped forward, moving one foot at a time through the threshold leading down a hall, down another hall, to the office. He shuffled himself into a chair next to Johnny, Abraham preferring to stand next to his father, a perfectly poised angel. A saint. 

  "So, firstly, Daniel, how have you been?" Brother White scooted his chair forward, resting his hands on the desk, which were steepled together. Years ago, Daniel almost looked up to Brother White. A religious individual who ran the church and ran it well, kept up with how people were doing and made sure to squash any drama before it could start. Unfortunately, the gilded image faded at the edges, leaving the idol tarnished. He was nothing if not arrogant, like his mother to some degree, with a different ends and means. 

  "I've been alright." Daniel replied, his eyes sliding from one side of the room to the other, trying to find something else to focus on. 

  "Mm." Brother White nodded thoughtfully. "So, do you have any idea why I've brought you back here?" 

  _You're not my principal,_ Daniel thought, but he again bit his tongue. "No." 

  Brother White arched a brow. Johnny snorted, leaning back into his chair, arms folded over his chest.

  "What, you expect a _'no sir'_ from 'im or what?" Johnny grunted, his grin sharp. Abraham frowned from where he stood, brow furrowed, but he stood quiet.

  "Well, I'd expect a little _respect_ from him, that's all." Brother White retorted, but clearing his throat and quieting his voice, he leaned forward. "Johnny, Daniel, you two are the two more... Heretical of the people who go to this fine church. And while y'all are free spirits, that don't mean the Lord don't want you to be good. And good for Him, not for yourselves, y'hear?" 

  Daniel nodded, but Johnny raised the corner of his upper lip, scowling, arms folded over his chest. "You're kidding me, right? Like, you think we're gonna change just 'cause your interpretation of God says we gotta?" 

  Brother White cleared his throat. " _'You shall stand up before the gray head and honor the face of an old man, and you shall fear your God: I am the Lord.'_ Leviticus 19:32." 

  Johnny scoffed. " _Sounds_ like it's from 1932." 

  " _Johnny._ " Abraham hissed, his eyes warm and worried, but Johnny just continued.

  "Look, Brother White, I respect that you're a preacher, but how can we trust your version of Scripture?" 

  "What do you mean my _version_ of Scripture?" Brother White almost smirked, his face filled with the incredulity his voice was flooded with, "It's right there in the Bible. You can read it yourself. _'All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebukin-'_ "

  "You got a Verse a day count or something?" Johnny snapped. "We just heard'ya preach for like, what, an hour and a half? And you think we haven't listened to a damn word?"

  "Watch your tongue, boy." Brother White snarled, his voice dangerous and low. Daniel watched these two as they went back and forth, Abraham's cheeks red in a sort of agitated embarrassment. Daniel felt for him. His father was unkind to his friends only because they didn't match the vision he had for friends for his son. It didn't make sense to anyone.

  "Hey, didn't the Bible say be kind to everyone?" Daniel piped up, his voice louder than he intended. Silence settled. "Then why are you singling us out? I don't think I went to hell when I had my experience, and Johnny's just fed up with the way you run the church, not religion in general I think." 

  Brother White frowned. "Because both'a'y'all are gonna get yourselves in trouble with the Almighty if y'don't watch yourselves. These are formative years, my boys, formative in that they will shape and mold you and _break_ you in ways you ain't ever seen. You're not gonna be the same kids who walked into that high school as when you leave it, nor when you go off to college and the devil is everywhere, shapin' himself to make himself seductive in drugs and alcohol and women-"

  "Yeah, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it." Johnny rolled his eyes. "Look, the point is, your counseling sessions with me ain't doin' shit, and you're certainly not gonna wrap Danny here 'round your finger after he goes and sees nothing when he dies. You think that ain't weird? That maybe your perception of things is wrong?" 

  "Watch your mouth, you don't have a clue what you're talkin' about." Brother White hissed, but it was too late, Johnny was out of his seat, pacing the office. 

  "Maybe I do! Maybe I've done my own research. It's about time you get out of the 80s and realize the internet is used by Christians too! It's used by all sorts of religious organizations. Hell, _cults_ use it!"

  "You may have read Scripture, but do you understand it? Do you _know_ how many years of training it takes to analyze and understand Scripture? I've got a _doctorate,_ what do you have?" 

  "I've got a brain and some common sense and enough understanding on my own that tells me that God don't want you _shouting_ at a bunch of _kids._ " 

  Brother White turned to Daniel, and while his expression was grave, it was much more fire than brimstone. " _Lazarus,_ I think you need to calm your little friend down."

  "Oh, _little?!_ Oh, oh, you really wanna do this right here, preacher man?!" Johnny was on the verge of yelling. Daniel grabbed his arm, even though he was not about to swing, and though the fight was destined to be a much more verbal one, he still gripped. Johnny paused. He looked at Daniel, who looked more exhausted than angry. And then he looked at Abraham.

  The form of Abraham had pressed itself to the wall behind Brother White and to the left, almost between the bookshelves, his white-blond hair and pale frame shaking like a house in a tornado. He couldn't steady his hands. Daniel and Johnny were completely silent, and while Brother White had a look of satisfaction on his face, it faded when he craned his neck to see his son. 

  "Abraham?" He asked, his voice lower, "You need to step out, son?" Abraham nodded. Brother White gestured to the door. "I'll call you when I'm done with your friends."

  "No. We're done here." Johnny stated, grabbing Daniel's arm, and the two of them stormed out the door. In the end, nothing had been done but shouting, but all three boys had been damaged to some way. 

* * *

 

  Abraham was leaning against the wall outside, getting his bearings, sliding down the wall. He looked sick. He looked paler than usual and his pulse was going too fast too hard too much _too much too loud too hard too fast-_

  Daniel very gently knelt down beside Abraham, who had slid down the wall into a crouch. "Hey, Abey? Are you okay?" A long pause. Abraham swallowed, shook his head. 

  "I'm... I'll- I'll be okay, it's just a panic attack." 

  "Panic attack?" Johnny asked, still standing, his red flushed face returning to it's normal color. 

  "Yeah I- uh, um- I get them. It's no big deal I just really, uh, I just, I just need to sit down." He straightened out his legs and sat on the floor outside his father's office, then pulled his knees to his chest, nestling his chin between them. Daniel sat next to him and very slowly rubbed circles into his back, the other getting his breathing under control. Finally, Johnny sat down on the other side of Abraham, and without a word ran his fingers through the other's hair. He felt silly, petting him like he'd pet a cat, but the other was calming down. Slowly but surely, he was calming down enough to where he could speak, but his breath was harsh in his lungs. His chest was heavy, like someone had sat on it, neck stretched out as a crane's neck. He was hesitant to talk, but once Daniel and Johnny started to discuss school and the upcoming year, Abraham joined in, mumbling responses. These mumbles became more coherent and louder, to the point he was eventually talking at their volume, but it took much more effort than he was used to it taking. 

  "Daniel?"

  His mother stood down the hall. Daniel looked at her, and for a moment saw what she saw in his mind's eye; three boys, one curled up in himself, another stroking his hair, and Daniel holding him close to himself. He didn't know how his mother took that image, but it seemed the low draw of her mouth indicated displeasure. He swallowed.

  "I gotta go home. Uh, feel better, Abey." He smiled at him, and Abraham flashed a tired smile back. Daniel and Johnny waved at each other, and Daniel left the church with his parents, discussing the events in the car.  
  


* * *

 

  "So you mean to tell me," Gideon started, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "Brother White was trying to give y'all a whole _'y'all're heretics and need to be Saved'_ talk right there?" 

  "I guess so." Daniel shrugged. "I didn't think about it like that, but the way he went about it, Johnny just kept pullin' his leg and he kept taking it way too seriously." 

  "Geez." Gideon breathed, shaking his head. There was no more discussion of that night's events, but Daniel kept turning them over in his head, sleeping fitfully and just hoping, scrambling for some form of sleep. All he thought about was Abraham, the angel of the group, shaking like a leaf, quiet and terrible in the grasp of anxiety Daniel didn't even know he had.


	76. Cherubic Saint

  His fingers drummed his knee. He sat in the passenger seat of his father's car. He had to keep his breath steady. Brother White occasionally glanced to his son, the fingers drumming a slender knee, the troubled biting of his lips.

  "You alright, son?" He asked, his voice quiet, the radio down low. Barely audible. Abraham nodded, but his flinch at his father's voice indicated something else was happening. Brother White kept his eyes on the road but he couldn't help the glance over to his son, Abraham's white-blond hair much like his own, except Brother White's had begun to turn white and snow-light earlier than he had ever expected. He was merely on the brink of forty and yet the inevitable was happening. Abraham looked at his father, then the road in their headlights, the car turning slowly onto their street. 

  "Actually, dad- I uh," he paused, his heart hammering, a metronome going too fast in his chest, "I don't think you were very fair to Johnny and Daniel." 

  "That so?" Brother White grunted, not wanting to get on the topic. His grey eyes were dark steel behind his glasses, which sat a bit low on his nose. "Explain, then." 

  "They're- _we're_ just _kids,_ dad. We're not Bible scholars, Johnny's probably got a good handle on things but he doesn't have training. And Daniel..." He trailed off, gathered his thoughts even though his voice was trembling, "...Daniel doesn't really believe anymore, so it's not like we can change him."

  "We can damn sure try."

  "No, dad, please. He's... What he's been through and still goes through scares me. I think we need to give him space. If God means it to be, won't He bring Daniel back to Him in time?" 

  Brother White bit the inside of his cheek, his high cheekbones catching the light of the streetlight they passed under, sharp and rough. "I think sometimes we gotta act like God ain't here. We gotta be the hand that moves the gears, son, you'll see. When you get to seminary, when you gotta learn the way I learned, you'll see." 

  Abraham could only watch his father and swallow his pride. This wasn't right, but it was all he could do. Be quiet for now, and soon things would work out. Or so he prayed, all through the night while he cleaned his room and worked on summer assignments and showered and slunk down in his bed. He wanted to talk about so much more. Even though he did look up to his father he was terrified and pissed at him all the same. He couldn't process it, he wouldn't. He decided on sleep.

* * *

 

  
  He had made two quick calls in the morning, one to Johnny and one to Daniel. "Hello, Mrs. Hubbard? Is Daniel home?" 

  "Yes, he is," Sarah chirped, "and how are you, Abey darlin'?"

  "I'm good. Uh,"

  "How's your father doing?"

  "He's good! He and mom are out right now, and I have some books I thought Daniel would take an interest in." 

  "Oh, well ain't that kind of you?" Sarah leaned away from the phone, "Daniel, honey, your friend Abraham has some books for you." She leaned back to the mouthpiece, smiling, "So, Abraham, are you enjoying the summer so far? Excited to be a Sophomore?" 

  "Yes ma'am." He nodded curtly. On the other end he was balling his hands into fists. _Okay, yes, thank you Mrs. Hubbard. Thank you. You're very kind. You're very kind. My family is fine. Thanks._ His brain was scrolling through his scripted responses as he became more and more impatient with her small talk. Finally, she got the gist; he had been calling to ask for Daniel to come by around one, and to maybe bring a bag so he could bring some of the books home. Sarah replied she had a canvas bag she used for library books, that it would work, and they agreed this was the best course of action. 

  When Abraham finally hung up, his shaky hands setting the phone down, he swallowed air. He hated, hated phone calls. As he set the phone away he knew now he had to come up with enough books that would warrant needing a bag to carry them. It was an excuse after all, to get Daniel to his house. As for Johnny, all he mentioned was Brother White wanting to talk and his parents immediately woke Johnny and Jason up, letting them know that Johnny had to be at Brother White's at one that afternoon. 

  Abraham walked through the deep blue-walled study, the shelves leering down at him, having watched him grow into the boy he was becoming. He would be fifteen this year. He scanned the shelves and plucked a book, another, a few more, bringing them in his arms to his room and setting them on the floor. He'd be sure to give them to Daniel but tell him not to bother reading them. No point.   
  


* * *

 

  Daniel and Johnny were on their way to Abraham's. They looked at each other, realizing the other was walking on another part of the sidewalk, waving. And then they were heading the same direction, and they paused.

  "What's with the bag?" Johnny asked, furrowing his brow.

  "Abraham said he has some books for me." Daniel replied. "And where are you going?"

  "Abraham's... Uh, his father wants to talk to me." Johnny rubbed the back of his neck. "Who knew how badly I could piss off a preacher?"

  "Not really a patient man." Daniel laughed. "He needs to take some advice from his own Scripture." 

  They walked together, joking, but as they walked up the steps of Brother White's porch, they noticed the car wasn't in the driveway. If Brother White were home, his wife must be out, or maybe he was out and his wife was home, but Johnny pointed out how that wouldn't make sense-

  The door opened at precisely one, Abraham standing there, his chin held a bit high. "Hey," he breathed, relaxing, and gesturing them inside. When they entered, he shut the door, the windows letting in ample sunlight that the lights were out in the living room and the study. The world was quiet around them, the hum of appliances in the kitchen just enough background noise.

  "Abey," Daniel began, "did you call us both here for something?" 

  Abraham nodded, looking around. "My parents will be back at four, they went to another town to meet with other pastors, so I've got the place to myself until then." 

  Johnny grinned. "Want us to help you trash the place?"

  "What? _No!"_ Abraham seemed almost appalled at the proposition, but he calmed himself, inhaling and placing his hands on his hips. "No, not at all. Just- come on upstairs." He waved for them to follow him as he went up, down the hall, to his bedroom. The other boys followed, and once Abraham got to the door, he turned back to them. "Hey, Daniel? I told your mom I had books for you. So if you don't want to seem uh- suspicious? They're in my room." 

  Daniel nodded, the canvas bag hanging from his wrist. "Thanks, I'll get them before I go." 

  "Okay. Don't worry about actually reading them, just put them somewhere it looks like you read them. I'll get them sometime in the next month or so." Abraham rolled his wrist and then opened the door, the three stepping into the bedroom. Abraham's room was always calming, cool toned and smelling like whatever scented candle his mother decided would make the house smell nice. For now, it was vanilla and nutmeg, even though it was well past Christmas, which was prime nutmeg candle season. When the door was closed, Abraham took a breath, pressing his hands together like he was in prayer. He pressed the sides of his index fingers to his nose, then tilted his hands as though they were aiming at the other boys.

  "I am so, _so_ sorry about my dad's behavior last night. He was being a total-" Abraham paused, as though nervous, and then continued, "-a total _dick,_ I know. You guys didn't deserve that and I think he was out of line totally, but since we got so off-topic, I'm gonna try to maybe explain what he wasn't able to. If you guys wanna leave, that's cool, but I think since you're my friends, you should hear me out." 

  Daniel and Johnny looked at each other, and for a moment it looked as though they were about to leave the room - Abraham's heart leapt to his throat - but then they sat down on the bed, comfortable, quiet. Abraham couldn't restrain the smile on his face, his friends listening to him, able to get them to at least try to hear him out.

  "Okay! So, uh-" He breathed, "my dad called Daniel back, he called you back to uh- talk about your Near Death Experience. I'm sorry- _gosh,_ listen, if you don't wanna talk about it that's totally cool-"

  "No, please, go ahead." Daniel nodded, encouraging the other. "I really wanna know what was gonna be talked about." 

  Even though the phrasing sounded sarcastic, Abraham continued, because he knew Daniel's curiosity was sincere. "Okay. Basically, my dad doesn't believe you went to a void, he thinks that isn't Theologically possible since we're Southern Baptists and not Catholics, but he wanted to ask you what you thought you saw. Like, what vibe the place gave you. What you think it was." Abraham explained, trying to hold his words together. This was more nerve-wracking than he had ever anticipated, but it needed to be said, he needed to get this out. "So, care to explain?"

  Daniel paused, hooking his finger at his chin, and glancing down to the floor and off to the side. "Well," he started, "I don't know. It was cold, and dark, and weird. It felt like time wasn't real, like nothing was, I was just floating and I didn't feel real." 

  "Okay, wanna expand on that?"

  "Yeah," he nodded, "it felt like I was just not there, but there at the same time. You know how in dreams, when you're in a place you don't feel actually physically present? Like that." 

  "Okay! So that's progress. My dad wasn't going to actually talk about it, but uh- a concept I think you'd like is Purgatory. It's usually in Catholicism, but basically, it's an in between before you get to Heaven. If you were a good person but not religious, it's like a holding place so God can help you out and cleanse you and- yeah. It's good. I uh, I don't know how much I believe in it, but maybe that helps?"

  Daniel didn't think it helped at all. He didn't believe in Purgatory, it didn't make sense. Why was there a holding place? He had been told from day one it was Heaven or Hell, how could there be something else? He shrugged. "It sounds nice, Abey, but you know how I am. I can't... I don't believe that it was that. I believe in what I saw." 

  Abraham nodded, pulling his desk chair over and sitting down. "I don't want to disprove what you saw, ever. Your experience changed you as a person," he said, a bit more quietly now, "and I don't know how it changed you, but whatever it did, I hope you live this life well because of it." 

  Daniel watched him, the sincerity in his voice, his features. He was beautiful and serene, the patron saint of the outcasts of Cain, their own guardian angel that loved them all despite everything, maybe even because of everything they were. He smiled. He knew then and there Abraham would be an amazing pastor one day, not just preaching, but counseling those who may follow him. He nodded and he watched Abraham shift his gaze to Johnny, who sat there with his hands plucking stray threads of his jeans.

  "Johnny, my dad has been too hard on you."

  "Understatement, but okay, yeah." Johnny rolled his eyes.

 _"Please."_ Abraham spoke solidly, like he was attempting to put a dam in place of the other's emotions, stop them from flooding his voice, "I know it's tough. Just hear me out."

  "...Alright." Johnny nodded. "Okay."

  "Johnny, my father has been too tough on you, but please know he does mean well. I think it's just- he doesn't know how to handle us. We're not the good Christian kids he's used to. I'm not, and I'm his son. I've got my own sins and secrets, everyone does, but I think we all need to just... Put our best foot forward. It's only four more years here- no, three. _Three_ more years of high school, and we can make it out of here. If we can make it out of this town alive, even if we gotta bite our tongues and just keep ourselves under wraps, we'll be okay. I believe in you guys." A pause, and he covered his face, shrinking in on himself. "Geez, I don't make sense. I'm rambling and I'm sorry but- I just- I just hope you get what I'm saying." 

  Daniel and Johnny looked at each other, and then they looked at Abraham, who was peeking through his fingers at them.

  "Yeah," Daniel nodded, "I get you. Abey, gosh, you're one of our best friends! How can we not? And uh, as for your father..."

  "I can't do much about that, I'm sorry. Can you just know I don't side with him? He doesn't speak for me?" Abraham forced a small smile, a shrug of the shoulders, but he was too nervous to really say much more. Daniel nodded. Johnny, agreeing but quiet, chuckled.

  "Abey, I don't think a fuckin' force on earth could stay mad at you. You're just- I just wanna pinch your cheeks you lil' cherub." 

  Abraham laughed, swatting Johnny's hand as the other reached forward, his beaming smile perfectly placed on his face. "I'm glad, I really don't want y'all to be mad. I love you guys." 

  Nothing else needed to be said. Abraham stepped forward, and the two made space between them, letting Abraham take a seat and sling his arms around both of them, one draped on Johnny's shoulder, the other on Daniel's. They held each other, and it was an unusual display for young boys their age, but Abraham had that ability to bring softness out of them, even when it felt strange. Abraham talked to them about different plans for the summer, different ideas to go places and see things, and before three-thirty, Daniel and Johnny left, Daniel with a bag full of books. 

  As they left the household of Brother White, they waved to Abraham and started their walks home, and Daniel looked at Johnny. He felt bad to even mention it. It was bitter on his tongue. But something kept ringing in his head, something kept pushing him to the side and forward in his mind.

  "Do you think Abraham could even have secrets and sins?"

  Johnny was quiet for a while as they walked, the scathing sun and horrible humidity burning them both up as they walked. "I don't know." He shrugged. "Abraham's a good kid, but y'know, good kids have bad things they do. It's just like that." 

  Daniel listened, nodded, and adjusted the bag he was carrying. "I know, but it seems unlike him. He's such an angel, can that even be a thing for him?"

  "He's human, too, you know. We're all fucked up humans, so it's not like he's above us." Johnny remarked, shoving his hands in his pockets. "He's just a bit nicer than other people. He's always been like that."

  Daniel agreed, but he couldn't shake it. What sort of secret or sin could Abraham dare hide? He was so open and real and himself, what could possibly be lying behind? Maybe one of his best friends wasn't the boy he thought he knew. But it wasn't for him to discover or ask about, it wasn't his place.

  At least not for a couple more years, no, it was not his place. But what's done in the dark is always brought to light. And in the case of Abraham White, it would be forced out so suddenly and with such furor it would burn marks in his mind for years.


	77. Scratched Out

  At least his mother was pleased with this. Daniel carried the bag of books up to his room and set it near his desk, digging through them. There were plenty of ones that likely were part of Brother White's education in seminary, plenty of books that may have helped him on his journey to becoming a preacher. Daniel had no interest in really reading them, but he did have an interest in examining them. Some of them were obviously textbooks, meant to go along with lessons and independent study. Some of them were bought because they may interest Brother White and aid in his sermons. Daniel took care to ensure he didn't damage any of the pages as he flipped through a few of them, setting them gently aside. 

  Abraham said he was going to come collect them, but then an idea had formed; he needed books to study to understand the beliefs of his family, of his community. He needed something to assist him in his studies, and if he was too nervous to seek out books at the library, this would certainly be like they had fallen divinely into his lap. So pulling one of them out, he sat with his back against the wall under his window, curled up with the book and reading quietly. He didn't find that he believed anything the author was saying, about interpretation of the Bible as the true spoken word of God, but it did feel like the author had a conviction. It was felt in every word, in every sentence, that this author did believe with his heart and profess with his mouth that the truth was in the pages of a book that had been translated and transcribed for centuries. He had to wonder then how accurate it was, but Daniel wasn't going to ponder this too long. He just wanted to know what this author had to say.   
  


* * *

 

  Johnny's walk home had been in good cheer. He had practically bounced his way home, relief filling every notch and crevice of his brain that Brother White had indeed not called for him to go to his house and have a chat. He composed himself a few feet out of view of his house, knowing how he had to behave: utterly afraid, like the pastor had put the fear of God in him by force, shoving it into him like too many clothes in a suitcase, pure force holding it closed. He straightened out his face, shaking out the relief and forcing a look of wide-eyed anxiety to his features. It took him a moment, but he felt his facial muscles were in the right pose, and he took in a breath. He opened the front door and stepped inside slowly, performing the delicate act of a heretic scared into believing. He had to make it believable, and the look on his mother's face said it was. 

  "So, how did your talk go?" She asked, smug yet calm.

  "I think it went pretty good." Johnny replied with a hint of a stammer, just the slightest. His father, who had been sitting in the living room, stepped in and spoke up.

  "I guess you don't need any more counseling with Brother White. You look like a leaf." 

  Johnny forced a nervous laugh, "Yeah, guess so, dad." 

  And that, he thought to himself, is how you get yourself out of a shitty situation. He walked up to his room without breaking the act, but once inside, pumped his fist quietly in the air. He was thrilled, he was free, he could do what he wanted now. He didn't have to spend his Sunday and Wednesday with that pastor who he believed didn't give a shit about any of them. The feeling was ecstatic, the feeling was freedom and it was as beautiful as it was fleeting. 

* * *

 

  
  Daniel had been upstairs in quiet for an awful long time, long enough he didn't hear the world around him until a voice came from outside his door, joking with his mother about something. He jerked his gaze up, and there was a knock at the door, and Daniel quickly set his books away. He shoved them down into the bag his mother had let him use, setting his backpack ontop of it and straightening out his clothes. He opened the door and the smile that met him there was bright and golden. Patrick. 

  "Hey, Danny!" he moved into the room with nimble motions, his hands clutching two copies of... Something. Two small, stapled-together books. "I hope you don't mind, but I heard from some kids that the community theatre in Earnest is doing a production, and I didn't really have anyone else to practice with and since auditions are in a week, I thought maybe you could help me?" 

  Daniel stood there, a bit dumbfounded as he closed the door. "Uh, yeah, sure. What play?"

  "It's just called 'Bonnie and Clyde' and you can guess what it's about. But it's like a more comedic version of their adventures, more aimed at kids, y'know? Anyways, here's a script. I'm auditioning for the role of Clyde!" Patrick explained, his beaming smile never leaving his face. Daniel could feel his excitement even as he stood there, eyes down at the pages, scanning the script. It looked fine, the writing was good as far as he could tell, though it all hinged on whether it flowed out loud, he guessed. He didn't care much for the play or it's subject, but being here with Patrick and seeing the other scanning lines quickly and mouthing them to himself, bearing witness to his joy and the way he moved and the way every inch of him seemed to be touched by sunlight streaming in from his bedroom window made it all better. It made the whole world better, even when the world felt distant and cold outside in the middle of summer heat.

  "So, you ready?" Patrick asked, "You can be Bonnie, it'd be better so I can get used to her lines too, y'know?" His beaming smile had settled into something more comfortable, something that felt real and calm and gentle, and Daniel tentatively nodded. He didn't fancy himself the greatest actor, he just knew it was making Patrick happy to be able to work on this together, and that was enough.

* * *

 

  
  They got through the first act without much difficulty, going over different lines and scenes with moments spent collapsing in laughter, over exaggerating everything for their own amusement. Patrick's voice was light and airy and warm as he worked his way through his own lines, all the way to the second act, towards the end. Bonnie and Clyde were going to die, or disappear, whichever the playwright had decided for a play aimed at a sixth grade audience. Daniel flipped the page, Patrick sitting down for a moment to catch his breath, and as the minute ticked by, Daniel's heart stopped.

_[ BONNIE and CLYDE kiss ]_

  He stared at the page, bringing it closer to his face, his eyes locking on the words. _No. Yes. Yes! NO!_ He felt sick in his stomach but he couldn't help hoping Patrick would opt for it. He had to ask.

  "Hey, Patrick?"

  "Yes, Danny?" Patrick hummed from his place on the floor, head leaning against the wall comfortably.

  "Did you read the next page?" 

  "Uh... No, what about it?" Patrick picked up his script, and Daniel didn't say a word. After a few moments, Patrick stared, frowned, and worried at his lip. "...Huh." He pressed the crux of his finger and thumb against his chin, rubbing for a moment, "Huh. Okay. We can skip that, since," he made a vague gesture, rolling his wrist, "well, _you know._ Anyways, the main characters kiss and ride off into the night. Good ending, huh?" 

  Daniel did know. He knew. He knew and it hurt because now he knew where Patrick stood. He swallowed his pride and nodded, keeping up good cheer. "It's a sweet ending for sure. I hope you get that role, I think you'd do pretty well."

  "Thanks, dude," Patrick scratched the back of his head and laughed, and Daniel came to sit with him, the two going over a few of the scenes that gave them trouble, altogether ignoring the one that stuck in Daniel's mind long after they had seen the lines written boldly across the page. Gosh. He wanted to act it out. He wanted to kiss him, he had wanted to kiss him for years and never had and knew he never would and it was an ache in the back of his head, this realization, but he had to accept it. This was just the way things were, and there was no changing it.   
  


* * *

 

  Things were not going well for Johnny. Things had been great since he had said he and Brother White would no longer be meeting, but then there had been a phone call his mother made that evening, to be sure this was how things were going to be. No more meetings. No more counseling? Brother White had sounded concerned. What did they mean, he and Johnny had talked? He and his wife had been in another town. They had been meeting with other pastors. 

  So this led to the fleeting freedom of Johnny Taylor, crumbling around him. He couldn't handle the anger and frustration in his parents' faces. And then they had realized it had been Abraham who called. His mother, still on the phone with Brother White, explained this. And Brother White had been quiet for a while. 

  "My son did what?"

  "He called, said you guys were going to talk."

  A longer pause, "I see." 

  "Yes, we're sorry for the confusion."

  "No, no, it's not your fault. I think I need to have a talk with Abraham." 

  And Johnny, now grounded, stood out of sight of his parents, listening in. His heart dropped when he heard his mother mention Abraham. He felt even sicker when he heard his mother say that she hoped the talk would go well, try to make sense of his lies. And that was all.   
  


* * *

 

  Daniel sat in his room after dinner, mind half-there, mind half-here, flipping through one of the books Abraham had given him. "Heresy in the Modern Church" by H. Brownfield was a book he'd taken particular interest in, detailing how people twisted Scripture out of context, used it for their own gain. It was a bit of an old copy, the spine crinkled in several places. Daniel had taken an interest in it for it's subject, how everything Brother White had done recently felt like he was a character described in the book, one who took the Bible as a literal word of God, never daring to dig deeper, never daring to suffer and doubt for their own faith to grow. He didn't feel the least convinced of the words spoken, but he felt like this author was on the right track.

  He stopped reading to flip through, gauge how many pages were left, when he got to the back of the book and the pencil-scribbled words against the last page. 

_'I read this book recently when I was studying, I thought you might get some use out of it.'_

  The signature had been first erased, then scribbled out with marker, it seemed. No way to figure out who had gifted it to Brother White, no evidence as to who would give this book to him in the first place, but Daniel made the inference that whoever it was knew that Brother White was a self-serving man, even when he was younger, even as a student. He set the book away and got up, stretching and bringing out his notebook, writing in notes about what he had been reading. He couldn't shake that the wording felt particularly like an insult, and it kept a grin on his face long enough to distract him from that afternoon, where he very well could have acted on his thoughts under the guise of a script. 

  One day though, he hoped, he'd at least be reconciled with his thoughts and able to live a normal life. Deep down, something told him it wasn't possible for him, but maybe. Maybe.


	78. Young Gods of Cain

  It was decided, after some further digging, that Daniel hated H.P. Lovecraft. 

  He'd been looking up more information on the author to get a better handle on his writing - what was he like, why did he write the things he did - when he uncovered more details as to the personal life of the author. And so he could say with certainty that he had a reason to despise him.

  Shoving all of that aside, however, he was absolutely fascinated with the Cthulhu mythos. His days when not occupied were consumed with research into them, the kind of research that used to involve rolling up the sleeves and digging into archives, now in the modern era involving his frequent trips to the library to use their computers. Sure, at home he could use his father's desktop or mother's laptop, but the subject matter that he was looking into would cause them to prod into it, to ask him questions, to force him to divulge his interest. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He refused to give this part of himself over to them, let them shape and mold and twist it like hot wax. It was his and his alone, and there was not a thing that could bring him to let it go. 

  The hot summer sun scorched the pavement, the stench of cement baking in it's heat bringing out nothing but the revelation that it was too hot to walk to the library today. He had had some difficulty in the past with the sun, but he was careful, bringing water with him every time he left the house now. But today particularly was terrible, June bringing bugs and birds and the sun that hung limply in the sky like a pocketwatch off a wrist, dangling there, counting the moments he spent indoors. He was practically twitching with how much he needed to leave this house, leave this neighborhood, get to the library. He was so close, he felt like he was on the verge of true inspiration, of some sort of divine vision bordering the horizon, teasing him with it's opulence. But the mere fact was that it was too hot and that he had to suck it up. Revelations can wait one more day.

  Instead, he opted to figure out the mythos of Thulu, his creation inspired by Cthulhu and his Great Old Ones. Daniel sat in his room, at his desk, the hum of the air conditioner a breathy noise in the background, droning dully on. He couldn't figure out what to name others in his new mythos. He was debating going the Greco-Roman way, but felt that would be a betrayal to the original writings he was working with. So he sat there, pen tapping on the paper of his notebook, his bottom lip held between his teeth. He had been working on Zoxos and the Andromedean Republic, but he felt like they weren't worth his time. Not now. He had Thulu and whatever Ancient Ones that Thulu served.

  A knock at his door brought him out of it. He craned his neck, and the door opened, Rachel bounding in and flopping down onto his bed, her back pressed on the comforter. 

  "It's hot...!" She groaned, staring at the ceiling. Daniel chuckled, resting his elbow on the back of his chair.

  "Yeah, today's worse than last month." He commented, before pulling his notebook into his lap, the end of the pen tapping at his lip. Rachel watched him for a minute, relishing in the cool air from his ceiling fan before she sat up, her eyes locked on the notebook.

  "Still working on that nerd shit?" She asked, arching a brow. He rolled his eyes.

  "You could say it like that, yeah, guess so." He shrugged and shifted, his chair turned to her now. "I just figured it's better than being bored all day. Can't go anywhere in this heat, so I'm working on that stuff I showed you." 

  Rachel nodded and ran her fingers through her hair, the dark hair dye almost completely faded from it now, fire red making it's presence known. She was a bit taller this year, and she took pride in it, telling everyone she was gaining on them and soon she'd be six feet and towering over all of them. Daniel wasn't the only one to point out that she was probably going to be the shortest, but they hadn't pointed it out often so as to avoid her fists. Even if playful, her small punches to the shoulder hurt sometimes. 

  "What'd'ya have so far?" She asked, standing up and making her way to the notebook. Daniel turned the page to one on Zoxos, how he was a benevolent ruler, calm and kind and just. She looked it over for a minute, pressing her nails to her bottom lip and drumming, then a wide grin sprawled itself over her mouth. "Make him a tyrant."

  "What?" Daniel scrunched up his brow, "No, Rachel! Zoxos is a good person."

  "Hmmmm... But Zoxos is such a cool villain name. Like, come on, the name Zoxos reminds me of some sort of galactic tyrant here to kill all humans."

  "Then maybe he's turning his name on it's head."

  "Aw, that sounds boring though. Come on, Danny, make a villain I can cling to and tell all my goth friends about so we can fawn over him until morning light." Rachel shook his shoulders gently, her laugh bubbling through her speech and melting each word into the next, her amusement reaching her eyes.

  "Your goth friends?" Daniel repeated, his brow arching higher.

  "Yeah, made some pals online. We're all into Evanescence and My Chemical Romance, so we bonded over that and now we all have obsessions with fictional villains. It's wild." 

  "Sounds wild."

  "Yeah!" Rachel paused, and then after a moment slid her arms around Daniel's neck, which at first was warm and affectionate and unexpected. Rachel didn't behave like this, even when they had been dating. It wasn't like Daniel wanted her to stop being affectionate, it was a nice change of pace, like the world stopped. 

  And then one arm hooked around his neck, and her balled fist went to work rubbing his head, giving him a noogie that deserved an award, and he realized that the world was exactly as it should be.

  "Come on," her laugh cracked out, "not like you're not still one of my best friends, though, don't let my online friends deceive you." She teased before releasing Daniel, letting him breathe, the residual pain of the noogie thumping into his head. Gosh, she had a strong hand. 

  "Well, glad to know I still hold a special place in your heart."

  "Yup, as ice cold as it is!" She pat her chest for emphasis. He noticed she'd painted her nails black, but it was glittery black, the kind of nail polish he absolutely expected from her. Still shiny and fun, but dark nonetheless. He smirked and thought of a retort but bit his tongue, deciding not to play that game with her, knowing she could probably deck him even if just playfully. She wasn't afraid to be brash and it always showed. 

  "So Daniel, I meant to ask," she took a pause, stealing it from the air, "what did you think of that video? You know, the one in that church with your parents...?"

  He was silent for a long time, letting her words process. He folded his fingers together, leaning back in his chair. "I think it's... I don't know. Interesting. I just don't know, Rachel, I don't even know why my dad was in Atlanta. As for momma, still don't know why she was there either. It's like there's always been something they haven't told me, and now it's like I'm figuring it out, y'know?" He turned to her and his eyes pleaded for her approval, confirmation he was saying the right things to get his thoughts across. She nodded, and he was relieved she agreed.

  "I don't know, maybe it's something they really don't wanna talk about. But if you need to know then you gotta ask eventually, right? Like, you'll never find out if you don't." She proposed, twisting her mouth into an expression of mild confusion and a sort of resignation to it, knowing that in the end they may never get answers.

  For better or for worse, though, Daniel's curiosity had been stricken and he was determined to get answers. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday soon. He pulled his notebook back to himself and then moved over to the bed, the two sitting there and working out the story. She was able to help him resolve some plot points for the Andromedean Republic, namely how Zoxos could be an emperor if there were many Ancient Ones, and Rachel had suggested that they were just in charge of other places and things in time. Zoxos ruled his republic, and the others had their own places of reign, but that all of them were allied. It worked well for now, but in the coming years, Zoxos would be usurped by another god, someone Daniel had been unknowingly conceiving of for years. But that was down the line, this was now, and he and Rachel were happy and that was all they could ever hope for. 

  "Do you think something's wrong with Abraham?" Rachel asked out of thin air. Daniel, blindsided, snapped his gaze to her. 

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean he's never really been that interested in people outside of our group. Not even like, crushes or anything. You think it's gotta do with his dad? The whole purity thing, being clean for Jesus...?"

  "It might." Daniel's heart skipped a beat but he kept his voice under control. He had to. He couldn't let on that he had a feeling, the inkling of something, that he and Abraham were suffering the same fate silently and watching each other, unable to talk about it, knowing the consequences. 

  "Yeah," Rachel shrugged, ruffling her curls, "that's gotta be it. I mean, the guy preaches that whole abstinence for God deal. It's not bad but you shouldn't be made to feel guilty about your own decisions, y'know?" She seemed to be looking for his approval, searching his face for anything indicative of them sharing ideas, but he couldn't quite understand what she meant. All he could do was furrow his brow and hope that his shrug and his agreeing mumble was enough. They turned their attention back to Thulu and Zoxos. Maybe they knew each other, these two weird alien gods. Maybe they were friends. Anything was possible now that they had an entire universe to create, and like young, excitable gods, they dived right in, and worked to make their own world in the image they wanted. No one to tell them how to build it. It was theirs, and theirs alone.


	79. Cruel In Their Irony

  There were few things Daniel knew with any certainty anymore. That was the impact of having everything he knew shattered by a Near Death Experience. People told him what he was supposed to see and what death was like and meeting God and heaven and hell but when he had seen nothingness, it had fallen away like curtains dropping to the stage floor. He had been twelve then, and now he was fourteen bordering fifteen, and his life was consumed by myth. He found no such comfort in it that finding a new faith could give, no explanations striking his heart, but it was inspiration, a muse to help him build his own writing so as to make his own closure. He knew he couldn't talk to anyone in his family about his experience in depth, but over the past year they had started to leave him be on it. They couldn't tell him what he did and did not see and his adamant attitude was enough to dissuade them from further attempts. At least for the moment, and Daniel could only hope for good.

  As his life was now consumed by myth, he had begun to do more of his own reading. It was an unusually cool day in late June, the clouds producing a long shower of rain, then first having trapped humidity and heat and now releasing it, and so his trek to the library was much less arduous. He could walk without feeling like he was close to collapse in the mid-day heat and some part of him reveled in it. He loved cooler days in the summer, a release from the grasp of terrible southern weather. He walked with a brisk step though, so as not to waste his own time nor the time of whatever powers may be - were there any in the first place, he added to his own thoughts - and to ensure he didn't get zapped of his energy by the sun that hid now behind grey veils of clouds which were splotched along the sky in varying shades. 

  Upon arriving, he greeted the librarian with his characteristic broad smile, the same broad smile his mother flashed everyone they met on the street. After some small talk he moved from the desk and quickly ducked into the mythology section, eager for more. He had been so bored that one hot day after Rachel left, and then the rain had prevented him from leaving his house. Finally, the boredom could end, he could fill the hole with words and with stories and with ancient gods whose words and actions still echoed down into the modern era. 

  He grabbed a book off the shelf, a large and heavy book that he'd been digging through the past few months here and there, and flipped to a section he'd dog-eared. He continued his reading, folding his calves one over the other, the book comfortably resting in his lap. This section had stuck out to him, mainly for it's subject. Or for one particular line, rather, one that he felt a twitch of calling to. 

  _DIKE - GODDESS OF JUSTICE AND MORAL ORDER, daughter of the titaness Themis and the god, Zeus. Roman counterpart is JUSTITIA._

  He couldn't explain why this stuck out. It had just been a simple line but somehow he felt like there was more. Themis, he read, also was a being representative of justice and judgement. And for some reason these two particular beings were more to him. Perhaps that because his father was a paralegal, that he had grown up around attorneys because of this, he felt this pull. And perhaps because if Dike and Themis were out there, he hoped they would bring justice for he and his friends. Justice righteous upon the town and the ways it had wronged them.

  This was not where he wanted his mind to linger, but he found himself idly flipping through, finding various names of gods and goddesses but nothing pressing itself into his mind, just the deeds some were attached to. The wrath of various gods. The Furies. But he set the book away a while later, prying another from the shelf, flipping through and digging into its contents.  
  


* * *

 

  It wouldn't halt, it never would, nothing stopped so easily for him. He left the library an hour later and made his way home, but the walk was a daze of blazing thoughts. Nemesis. She had been known to exact revenge more specifically on those whose hubris got to be too much for their own good, their arrogance enough to call down her fury. He wondered with some sarcasm if she were real and if she would, within her power, be able to get vengeance on those who were arrogant concerning other gods. He decided that even if she were real, there was nothing she could do for him.

  Believing in one thing and then feeling it can't be true is not easy. It's not the same as stopping one's belief in Santa. His faith had shaped every moment of his life - his birth, his christening, vacation Bible schools, every Sunday and Wednesday evening for as far as he could think back - and the idea of it no longer being relevant to his life was daunting. Even now, two years after his experience, he clung to some shred of hope from the great cloth of faith that somehow, somehow he really was wrong and everything was okay. Everything he had been taught was real. Everything was good and happy and he had nothing to fear in believing because it was right all along.

  But then if it was right all along, that meant Brother White was somehow, in some twisted manner, on the right path. How could a man like Brother White be righteous while he continued to control the members of his church, his guidance always sought before life-changing decisions, while Daniel was barely a teenager and yet he was so damned in everyone's eyes?

  He didn't want to think about it in those terms. The path he was traveling felt more and more terrible with every new thought, gnarled with thorny vines. Brother White being on the right path felt the most wrong out of all of it. He couldn't, even knowing the other was a pastor, acknowledge him as a religious authority anymore. He was no more a guide than Daniel was a believer. But then how could his parents have such deep-rooted, such firm faith when Daniel had told them multiple times there was nothing when he had died? There was nothingness and more and more nothingness sprawling out before him for infinity. How could they still hold tight? Was there something he was missing?

  That must be it, he concluded, having made it home not long ago (still locked up in his thoughts and barely remembering his walk) and now laying flat on his back on his bed. There was something he was missing, and in some way he was determined to figure out what it was. Was it faith or was it conviction? Did he just lack someone who was able to lead him with just the right words? And then it came to mind, maybe _he_ needed to be his own guide. Abraham was his guide as far as he was concerned, but he couldn't rely on Abey all the time, and the boy didn't have all the answers.

  So there it became known, if only for a moment, that Daniel had to make himself into his own leader. Maybe if he were better equipped for the job he would have been great at this one task. Looking back years later, though, he resolved that moment to be the proof that he could say whatever gods there were, whatever beings controlled this universe, they were cruel in their copper-sweet taste for irony. In becoming his own guide he guided himself through violent delights to violent ends, and there was nothing poetic about it.


	80. Blank Stretch of Time

  Gideon had once been a respectable person.

  He had attended Cain Silvers High School, graduated 12th in his class, had plenty of friends at the time. While he often got in spats with Cooper White, they let their rivalry simmer at the end of high school, only not to fail their Senior year for placing their clashes over their classes. He went to a nice community college and graduated from a career program as a paralegal, one of the best the school had let out into the world in quite some time. He then settled down with his wife, and had a son. 

  Somewhere between high school and becoming a paralegal was a giant hole that Daniel was desperately trying to fill in without asking about it. What was the best way to ask? He didn't want to approach his father, now a bitter alcoholic, and ask him about years that perhaps were best left forgotten, carcasses of memories to let time's vultures pick them apart and dissolve them. It was only when the math didn't add up that he felt the tiniest impulse to really try. Gideon had once mentioned finishing college when he was in his mid-twenties, around the time Daniel was born, but when Daniel looked up how long it took to become a paralegal he had found it took only between two and four years. He had thought long and hard about asking for an explanation for that long blank space in time, but when he came home and found his father was still out and his mother was smoking a nervous cigarette, he decided against it. 

  And so he set his own mind against asking. It was the only thing he could do for now to keep the peace. 

  He went upstairs quietly, sneaking a quick glance at his mother, whose hair had grown a bit longer and who had remarked she needed a haircut, who had shot down the suggestion of shorter hair by a woman in church - pixie cuts would make her look like a lesbian, she'd joked with that woman - and then turned his gaze back to the rest of the trek upstairs. He looked to the right and the door was open to his father's office, the study, whatever they called it depending on who was using it the most. He thought about going in there to dig in some files. 

  And the thought did not dissipate. He quietly tip-toed down the hall, the wood floors _tap-tapping_ with his footsteps barely audible, until he made it to the room. It was a quaint and spacious room, good for it's usage. The shelves were built into the wall, remnants of an older time, the wood polished and deep and warm. The house had been in his family on his mother's side for years, and he happened to be the next to inherit it when those days came. He didn't want to think about this, the ink void consuming his mother's life and every story encompassed by veils of long sleep, so he shifted his thoughts to the task at hand. He wanted to find any information from the years he couldn't discern his father's location, his life. He walked with a sort of elegance befitting a medieval thief, grace and anxiety pulsating in every moment he spent in this room. He opened a drawer in the desk, careful to lift it just a touch to ensure it didn't squeak too loud. He listened to the muted rolling of the drawer sliding from the desk and when he could slip one of his slender hands inside he did so, rifling through paper and envelopes and documents. Everything was disorganized in this drawer, the sloppy handlings of someone who didn't care enough about the papers inside to ensure they were categorized and neatly tucked away. 

  Daniel was quick and quiet in his task, until he found one piece of paper he didn't recognize the texture of. He was quick to snatch it out, and caught a glimpse of the word _"Grace",_ capitalized, the name of a place, when he heard the front door. He scrambled to shove the paper back into the drawer and made a silent dash to his room, picking up his violin in a hurry and the shoulder rest, the bow, and beginning to play. Improvise. Improvise. Keep his cool as his parents talked, then bickered, then fought, their voices rising louder and louder in cacophonies. He played his violin quicker now, louder now, cover up every sound and hope no one cared. He walked to the window and opened it, playing to the night, the crickets a metronome, their high sounds a shrieking into the night, his playing matching the pitch and then lowering, low as thunder. He could hear his mother now, her voice that was always uniquely her own lingering in reverberations downstairs. He could hear footsteps in the hall but his daze, the zone he'd entered, hindered him from really caring for them. And then a door slammed. 

  And then it got uncomfortably quiet. 

  Daniel played for a bit longer, and then set his violin away, creeping to the door of his room. He hadn't realized how badly his hands had started shaking until he looked down, their tremor evident as he stared at his palms, his calloused fingertips, his young wrists with their deep teal-blue veins criss-crossing under a pale layer of flesh. He took a second, swallowed the lump in his throat, and then twisted his bedroom doorknob. 

  He was careful as he made his way downstairs, delicate, the weight of the moment pressing itself down on his shoulders. He was Atlas carrying the world that his parents had made. He was Prometheus punished for his knowledge. He took his time as he made tiny steps downstairs, a few creaking with his motions. He could hear glasses in the kitchen. He knew it was his father. He hated this, but he wanted to know what was happening. 

  He made his way to the bottom stair, his socks keeping his footsteps from being too loud. It was like approaching a lion who had escaped it's cage, a pacing beast back and forth that could rip him to shreds with claws and teeth and jaws so powerful they could crush his skull. He craned his neck from behind the doorway to the kitchen, and then brought himself to stand there in the doorway, watching his father slam back a glass of bourbon. He worried at his lip, watching the slump of the other's form, much more like a tired beast than one anticipating prey. 

  Gideon looked up, his constantly weary look now just exhausted, his amber eyes tired, bags underneath purple-hues. 

  "Hey," his voice was rougher, burning up in his mouth, "how's it going, Danny boy?" 

  Daniel pushed a smile onto his face, it twitching at the corners of his mouth. "I'm- uh, I'm good, dad."

  Gideon nodded thoughtfully, rubbing his jaw. He gestured to the chair next to him, the tiny kitchen table enough to seat them were they to have a nice breakfast in there which they never quite did. "Come on and join me. Can't drink though, I'm afraid, you're too young." He joked. Daniel chuckled, and sat down next to his father in the chair, the lofty weight of their situation holding them both and pressing them down. 

  "Are... Are you and momma okay?" Daniel asked with some trepidation. Gideon have a wry laugh, set his glass down and pulled his glasses from his nose, rubbing the bridge of the cartilage. He squeezed his eyes shut, and after a moment he cupped his hand over his mouth, pulling it down his chin. 

  "Yeah, son, we're good. You don't need t'worry 'bout us. _We're_ s'pposed to worry about _you,_ after all." He jabbed, his grin the same as it ever was. Daniel didn't grin back. Gideon paused, and seeing his son didn't find the same amusement in his joke, took another long drink from his glass and replaced his glasses on his face. He poured more bourbon. He didn't speak for a longer time and Daniel got a bit worried before he opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a second except a long, heavy sigh.

  "Look," he said, snapping his fingers to ensure Daniel kept his gaze on him, "I haven't been the best father. Damn if I don't know it. But you're still my son, y'got that? You're still my son, and your momma's still my wife. And I love you both. I do." 

_Then why do you fight. Then why do you argue. Then why do you accuse and curse and threaten and yell and and and and-_

  Daniel's head was swimming with questions as his dad took another long drink from his glass, undoing his tie, unbuttoning his vest. He had been drunk for a while. Brought it home with him. He'd been to a bar and that's why Sarah had been upset, it seemed, with the way he still had his sleeves rolled up and buttoned and how he smelled like smoke despite not being a smoker. His mother only smoked when she was nervous, and Daniel could count the number of cigarettes that had been between her lips in his sight on both hands. 

  "I don't..." was all Daniel could utter. Gideon gave a smaller, still wry laugh, shaking his head.

  "I know you don't get it. You 'n'your friends don't get that the world ain't simple. It ain't a nice place out there and we're just tryin't'prepare you, I guess." He didn't take a drink this time. He just sat there in solemn silence, his fingers filling between each other, hands clasped together as he slumped down in the chair, elbows on the knees of his dark khaki pants. "I know your mother 'nd I fight a hell of a lot. We don't mean to, we don't. We just... _Do._ I think she's got a problem with my drinkin'." 

_Who doesn't,_ Daniel thought. There was another, longer pause. Gideon shifted his hands to where they were poised over his lips, then lowered his head, index finger pressing into the bridge of his nose like he was holding his head up with them. "God... God works in a _weird_ fuckin' way. We fight and then we make up and we're happy and then we fight again." 

  Daniel didn't know why his father was saying all of this, his brown hair combed back but now strands of it hanging limply down. He was tired and drunk and the mild flush of his cheeks gave him away, his square jaw strong and clenched. 

  "Listen 'ere, boy," Gideon turned to Daniel, "I think that what you saw- what you _didn't_ see, really, that's _strange._ Y'didn't see God or angels or anythin'. And I think you may be right sometimes 'bout all o'this shit. But I won't let all my faith be shaken by my son, even if he's got conviction." 

  So he thought he may be right. So he was possibly doubting everything. So he understood so he got it so he was able to tell Daniel this and why? For what, to what ends, to what meaning? The lump in Daniel's throat thickened. He felt sick and tired and like he could cry. His own father who had been so adamant to get him Saved and Baptized was having his own struggle with belief and never once mentioned it, they never once talked about it, what the hell- 

  He was one of the most religious men Daniel had ever met, one of the few who Daniel could see the faith in his eyes as though when he looked at him, his pupils were crucifixes and hellfire. The mere idea that he had doubts felt laughable. 

  There was a long while where neither said anything. Gideon poured more bourbon in his glass, the _glug-glug_ of the bottle louder in the quiet than ever. 

  "Dad? You said you went to college until around the time I was born, right?" Daniel piped up. Gideon nodded.

  "That's right." 

  "Then- you said you went to college the same year you got out of high school, but being a paralegal- doesn't that only take two or four years? So if my math's right then you- I mean-"

  Gideon snapped his gaze to Daniel and for a moment the blond's palms sweat with anxiety, before he exhaled long and loud and stood, carrying his glass. "Don't go asking questions y'don't want all the details of, boy. You may not like what you hear." He then stood in the doorway, leaning in the frame, and gave Daniel a crooked grin. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta go try makin' up with your mother." 

  And as he left, Daniel sat there, staring at the place where he had stood. He didn't understand his father's cryptic answer, but let it lie, and resolved he'd ask more one day, one day, but not today. For now, all he wanted to do was get out and walk for a bit, shake off the energy of the house and replace it with cool night air and the humidity of a Georgian summer.


	81. Leviticus 19:18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q-slur is used once at the beginning of the fourth paragraph.

"‘Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against anyone among your people, but love your neighbor as yourself. I am the LORD." 

_ -Leviticus 19:18 _

 

  It was a quieter day than usual. A week after his father had given him such a coded answer, full of something akin to forgotten dread, Daniel made his usual trek to the library. He plucked a book from a shelf, one on Roman gods this time, and sat with himself at a table, flipping idly through the pages. He had other things on his mind, too many things that kept him from concentrating, his mind clouded over and his vision obscured by the thoughts.

  He was contemplating telling Patrick what he felt. He'd hidden it for years, since he was old enough to comprehend these feelings, and every touch sent flaming panic to his chest and he needed to be honest. Their friendship had almost ended because he wasn't honest, breaking it off, snapping it like a twig. Rachel had, in the end, been the one to repair it. Her motivation alone had pushed him, ceasing his own bitterness and placing guilt in it's stead. They'd made up and everything was fine. But that was when they were twelve, wider-eyed and bright-hearted. Now they were all nearly fifteen and he needed to do something about it, get it off his chest, get it out of his mouth, the words he'd swallowed for seven long years. Maybe more. Every single one of them melded into each other, summers into winters into every other season, no bridges or gaps. The only constant being how he felt, the only words on his tongue that he maybe, maybe truly did have feelings for Patrick.

  The thought alone startled him even if he'd thought it a billion times. It spread across his chest to his stomach to his face, a copper taste in his mouth and a mild pink flush to his cheeks. He didn't know what to do. Would his family hate him if they found out? He thought back to that night, that one day near Valentines when he'd told his mother he wanted to give Patrick a Valentine's card. His mother's voice in his head was still loud, her hushed hiss to his father that night when she didn't think he could hear her, that he'd gone to bed. What had she called him?

 _A queer._ It stung even now, years later. It made his chest heavy, curling up ontop of it like a stubborn cat finding warmth and refusing to move. He swallowed the word down. He didn't quite know what it meant, he just knew from her voice it was nothing she wanted him to become. What had his father said to it? Did he know, had he heard? No. He had gone back upstairs. He didn't know what he had done or said in response. It was a terrible feeling to know he was becoming something they never wanted him to be. He'd strived to be a good child but his nature seemed to be a disapproving one.

  He tried to focus on the words of the page, his eyes scanning the names of gods and goddesses. _Mars, Minerva, Neptune, Pluto..._

  He lurched when he felt a tap on his shoulder, jerking his head to spot Abraham standing just a little behind him, a small smile on his face, a crease between his brows.

  "You okay?" he asked in his usual, kind tone. He was clutching book in his arm to his chest, his other hand outstretched for Daniel. The other boy waited, cleared his throat, and nodded.

  "Yeah. Just uh- reading up on myths."

  "Oh, nice! Which ones?" Abraham asked, taking the seat beside Daniel, leaning forward to listen. That was one thing about Abraham; he could make someone feel like they were the only person on earth, the only one that mattered, his attentive and gentle gaze and his leaning posture.

  "Um- Roman." Daniel answered, watching the other. He always felt better when he rest his baggage at Abraham's feet, but this was too heavy. He couldn't bear Daniel's cross this time.

  "Those are nice ones. Though they basically just copied the Greeks." Abraham chuckled, gingerly resting his hand atop Daniel's shoulder, the round curve fitting well in his palm. "So why are you reading on them? Just curiosity?"

  "Yeah." Daniel nodded, but no, it was something more. He felt guided to every word, every book he picked felt pre-chosen for him. He didn't know why, he couldn't explain it, but it was the way it remained.

  "Alright. Well, have you seen Patrick? I'm supposed to be meeting him here." Abraham's gaze darted around the library, neck craned to look over some shelves and tables. Daniel watched him, furrowing his brow.

  "No, I haven't, sorry."

  "Aw, heck. Alright, well, I guess he'll be here in a bit." Abraham pulled open his book, parting the pages carefully before resting his chin in the graceful curve of his palm. Daniel watched him for a second, before he blinked, thinking to ask.

  "Why are you guys hanging here? I mean, couldn't you just hang out at his or your place?"

  "Yeah," Abraham sucked air through his teeth, "but truth be told, I'm kind of avoiding my father right now. I think he's angry about something, but I don't know what, so I'm hanging out here. And Patrick said he'd join me today, so we're meeting up."

  Daniel nodded but his head felt bludgeoned. Abraham and Patrick were meeting together in his sanctuary, in the oasis he had made for himself and only himself. He felt tired and alert all in the same moment. He looked back at the names of Roman deities, letting the forms of the letters pull him in. _Fauna, Flora, Fortuna, Janus..._

  He paused at Janus. _God of doorways and endings and beginnings._ He took a moment. _Janus._ He hoped Janus was kind to him, this was a beginning not an ending opening the door opening to opportunity opening the doors to confession open-

  "How long've you been waiting?" Patrick remarked with a small laugh, his peachy tan warm and spread across his face, his arms. He was always rosy-faced in summer, heat and sun bringing the color to his cheeks. Abraham darted up and stepped over, slinging an arm around his shoulder. Daniel watched, and the hunger in his eyes could be felt from a world away but all the same the two were unaware. He was hungry for Patrick's arms, his laugh, his eyes, his lips. All of him, every detail. But Abraham and Patrick were now standing, chatting quietly so as not to disturb anyone else, their hands all but brushing and Daniel's stomach turned. Sick. Sick. He didn't want to be here he couldn't leave he didn't know what to do, his mind was racing faster and faster.

  "Danny! How's everything going?" Patrick finally addressed him as he sat down. Daniel didn't know what was happening around him, only that Patrick and Abraham were here, and his hands were balled in tight fists under the table. He felt like he was back in middle school, watching Abraham teach Patrick how to dance, the beauty and the terror of the moment coagulating in his chest. _Oh, mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head..._

  "I'm pretty okay," he lied, "talked to dad last night about something, but he won't give me a straight answer, so I guess that's... Well, it's definitely _happening,_ folks." He shrugged, twitching up a tiny grin, nervous as it was. Patrick nodded, resting his chin against the back of his palm.

  "Yeah, I hear you. Hope you get answers to whatever it was, though." The burgundy-haired boy reached across the table and pat Daniel's shoulder before turning his attention to Abraham. The two talked for a while right there, letting Daniel read _(Venus Fama Invidia Justitia-)_ before standing and making their way through the library, now hand-in-hand as Abraham often walked with his friends but the sight made Daniel's head pound, vision blackening at the edge, dark and longing and terrible. A reminiscent vision of the void. Another flicker. His heart was close to strangling his throat on an attempt to climb out his mouth and grab them, pull them apart, make sure that nothing he wanted was taken from him. He tried to go back to reading _(Juventas Libertas Libitina Muta-)_ and his eyes crawled over the page, desperation for focus taking hold.

  He glanced at the name Nemesis. And then he stuck there for a second. Would Nemesis be appropriate for this moment? To call down a Roman goddess he didn't even believe in for his own petty, guilty emotions?

  He wasn't sure what to say to or about himself. He sat there, staring at her name. _Goddess of revenge._ He wanted no malice towards either of them but seeing them hand-in-hand (now disappeared in rows of books) had made everything feel hazy and sick, his limbs heavier and aching with the weight of his own burden on his back. He couldn't bear this cross anymore. He couldn't handle carrying it through his house and to the library and through school and the streets of his town, dragging himself like a sack of flour that had been busted open, words spilling out in fine powder except the ones he could never admit.

  But he told himself then, no, no more hiding. Seeing them like that- he couldn't waste any more time. He had to think of some way, something to do, something to say.

  Not today. In the near future, he resolved, but not today. Let them have today. They're best friends, after all. And Patrick was his best friend, too. They deserved respect even when he was bitter. But bitter would be only a small amount of what he was when the time came, inching his fate closer with every tick of a clock.

  For now, he studied Roman mythology, and pondered the message hidden in the words of his father.


	82. A Defining Word

  It had been a while since they'd been on a walk together, just Patrick and Daniel and the cool night air.

  They hadn't agreed on a time, only that once the last lamp went out in the town would either even think of sneaking over. Patrick usually was the one to initiate their night walks. This time, it was Daniel. 

  Daniel had paced in his room, a billion things running through his head, and finally decided that he wanted to try talking to Patrick about things going on. All of the things with his father and whatever was between he and Abraham and whatever he possibly could figure out to discuss. It was bugging him, digging a hole in his chest and burrowing in like a lizard, snapping at anyone who tried to tug his worries out. And something from May was on his mind, an article he had only half-read and never bothered to think much about.

  Pulling on a cardigan and grabbing a pair of shoes, holding them with his fingers gingerly, he made his way downstairs as quiet as he humanly could, tiptoeing, socks making barely a thud on the stairs. He navigated his house in the dark with ease, lifting the handle of the back door just slightly in hopes to minimize creaking, and shut it with care. Sitting on the back porch, he slipped his shoes on and tied the laces, then dusted his hands off on his jeans and drew in a breath. He felt lighter now that he was out of his house, and was quick to make the walk to Patrick's, wanting to arrive before the other would definitely be asleep.

  The lightness seemed to fade with each step, the hesitation taking hold, his throat tightening. He had to figure out what to say, what to do, he didn't have a single idea what he was going to do when he got to Patrick's house. Would he mention Abraham first? Would he mention the article? Had Patrick even read it? He didn't know, and it was more than enough to keep his mind occupied, blanking out the entire walk to the other's place, not knowing he was there until he stopped in a familiar spot in the street. 

  The shadow of the building lingered ahead of him, contrasted in orange streetlamps harshly, the grass and ground taking on it's hues. He swallowed the lump in his throat but it didn't quite go away. He made his way into the yard, neon light illuminating his hands, bright orange in the dark, glowing. He wrung them and then shoved them in his pockets, pacing the yard. Gosh. How was he even going to get Patrick's attention? He hadn't thought this far. He needed to figure out something and quick. He paced back and forth but he couldn't find a single method, not knowing how to pick locks and not knowing where he could find a ladder. 

  His feet padded against the grass in the quiet, the summer bugs surrounding every lamp they could find, hurling themselves at glass. And then he got his idea, watching a moth repeatedly slam itself against the lamp. It was a harkening back to Patrick's own method, and so he grabbed a couple of tiny pebbles, found the boy's bedroom window, and began to throw.

  The first didn't hit. It pathetically bounced off the side of the house, barely making a sound. And then the second missed, and the third and fourth. Daniel collected them in his hands again, trying harder this time, the effort written across his face. His brow was scrunched in concentration, his bottom lip bitten down. He no longer had Patrick on his mind, only how the hell he'd get a pebble to make a mark. 

  Finally, one tapped the glass. Then two, one after another. Soon, pebbles were launched from his hands and while some barely hit the sides, a few were reaching the window. Enough were, at least, that Patrick slid open the window only to be met with a pebble launched at high speed into his forehead.

  "Agh-!" He pressed his palm over the place the tiny rock had hit him, and Daniel dropped all of them from his hands, clasping his palms over his mouth. 

  "Sorry!" He called up, not loud enough to be picked up much farther from them but enough that Daniel darted his gaze around to ensure no one was looking out their windows. Patrick looked down, pressing his palms to the windowsill.

  "Danny? Holy _shit,_ " a wide, mischievous grin spreading across his lips, "you snuck out for me, aw! I'm flattered, I never thought the favor would be returned," he turned his head and draped his arm dramatically above his brow, pressing another hand over his chest, "you and I enacting a beautiful scene like this on the night of a full moon. Almost makes me wanna cry." 

  "Patrick," Daniel hissed, his cheeks warming, "come down before you wake the whole neighborhood." 

  The burgundy-haired boy looked around, and then nodded, rolling his eyes and closing the window. A few moments passed, and then Patrick was creeping out the door, shutting it very quietly behind himself. He pulled his denim jacket over himself, sleeves rolled up his wrists, his jeans cuffed neatly. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his grin still beaming and sprawling across his lips. "So Danny, you've officially become a bad boy with me and Johnny. Welcome to our ranks, ya big blond goof." He slung his arm around Daniel's neck and the blond rolled his eyes, now deeply wondering if this was even a good idea. 

  They started their walk out in silence, just breathing in the air and each other's presences, searching for things to talk about. Daniel especially. The last thing he wanted was to seem rude or awful to either one of them, but the time Abraham had taught Patrick to dance and the moments at the library felt like tauntings in his face, dangling, that no matter what he did or how hard he tried, the one he liked so deeply, so very much, would never really like him. Not enough. Not at all the way he felt he should. He couldn't hold back trying to talk about it at least. 

  All the same, his anxiety of hurting his friends was holding him back. If he said anything, would Patrick be angry? Would he tell Abraham? A million things buzzed like bees in his head as he tried to get it together, write out the equation, the variables of the situation. He watched Patrick, the way the other's amber eyes turned practically gold in the street lights, and he swallowed his pride.

  "So, is there- is there anything going on between you and Abraham?" He finally posed, the question leaning into the air, casual and terrible. Patrick looked at Daniel, furrowing his brow.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean- uh, at the library, he seemed more... _Affectionate_ than usual, maybe?"

  "Pssh, it's _Abey,_ Danny. He's _always_ affectionate." Patrick rotated his wrist and grinned, "Seriously, it's not like you're jealous or anything, right?"   
Daniel swallowed. Yeah. Not jealous. Alright. "Uh- yeah. Yeah." He mumbled in response, nodding. 

  "Okay, good, cause if you _were_ I'd have a few questions to ask." Patrick shoved him gently, his grin still wide but something bitter in it. They walked in the quiet for a bit, the only noise the hum of electric lights and the ongoing shrill shrieks of summer bugs in the night, grasshoppers serenading and moths fluttering. Occasionally, the hoot of an owl or the screech of a bat would alert them to other beings out there, but for the most part, it was quiet and calm. 

  "So how are things with your dad?" Patrick asked, turning to the other, "Rachel said something was going on, and I wanted to ask, but y'know. Never a good time for those sorts of conversations." He rubbed the back of his neck as he walked, slowing his pace. Daniel shrugged as though trying to hide in his shoulders, a turtle retreating in on itself.

  "Things are- well, it's complicated, can't really put it into easy words, I guess." He replied, and they left it at that. Daniel all the same wanted Patrick to prod into it, wanted him to ask and talk and push his buttons for answers. He wanted his attention in this moment, his words, but he didn't know how to express it. He thought about the article he'd read back in May, the one his parents had only responded to with mutters and rubbing their temples or the bridges of their noses, and clenching their jaws and going about their days. He decided not to talk to Patrick about it. 

* * *

 

  
  They circled the neighborhood for a while, dragging their feet and words coming out naturally as they did after a while, and when they both figured it was time to head home, they parted their ways. Daniel wanted to ask more questions, pry deeper, but the mention of jealousy had stopped him. If he did feel jealous, and if his feelings for Patrick became known, what would the other think of him? He tried not to dwell on it but he still did, even as he laid in his bed and stared at the ceiling, his hands at his sides. If Patrick hated him, his world would decidedly end. He couldn't imagine his life without the other, his bright smiles and golden eyes and his honey voice. He was everything to Daniel, he was the only person he could see a life with like how Arthur and Veronica had a life together. He didn't know how else to phrase it. He didn't have the vocabulary for what he knew he felt; this fireworks-in-the-chest anxiety, this copper taste on his tongue, these nerves and this excitement, the fear and joy that Patrick inflicted with every absent touch, every little word spoken to him. Every utterance of his name on the other's lips was divine and he had no other way to express it, no one to share this with. 

  He had read back in May that same-sex marriage had been legalized in California. It hadn't meant anything to him then - he hadn't even let the idea enter his mind that it was relevant for him - but when he thought about it now, when he thought about Patrick and the way he felt and the jealousy of seeing he and Abraham so close, the thoughts of wanting to squeeze between them and force them apart- it all made sense. He laid there, staring at his ceiling, his heart racing a million miles per hour as he realized in his bed why he had never once wanted to date a girl, why he was even hesitant to grow close to girls for fear they'd want to date him and he'd break their hearts. It had always _been_ Patrick, it would always _be_ Patrick.

  Daniel Hubbard laid there in his bed with terror in his throat yet relief all the same when the realization struck him like the hammer of a mighty god. It was petrifying and glorious, having a word now, having something to tangibly grasp to define who he is and was and who he knew somewhere deep down he'd always be. The terror of it would come later, he would know fear in his heart from the other things dwelling there, but for a minute he was able to feel the force of it and the brightness that it brought, illuminating everything he'd ignored for years. He was gay. Daniel Hubbard, son of Gideon and Sarah, was gay. 

  It was a defining word, a wonderful word, and while he was dreading the things to come in his life, he felt something soften in his heart just for a moment. Through every ounce of confusion had been an answer so obvious that he figured anyone else - if they knew his thoughts - could have figured it out, and yet it was glorious that he had figured it out himself.


	83. Excuse

  Daniel's mouth cupped the word when he woke up the next morning, a tiny whisper. He'd opened his eyes against the peel of sunlight that came through his window, landing squarely on the floor. He knew when he woke up now, a word that flourished behind his eyes. And he said it out loud, in the tiniest whisper.

  "I'm... I'm gay. I'm gay." He stared at the ceiling. Normally he wouldn't be in the mood for a revelation before breakfast, but this one was important, it was pertinent, it colored every edge of his vision, his inner version of himself. And now it all made sense. He slowly rose up from his bed with it in his head, _gay, he was gay._ Gosh. The disbelief clouded him for a moment that this was real life, but he ignored it, shoved it aside. He pulled out some clothes from his closet and showered and stared at himself in the mirror. _He wanted to be with boys, with Patrick specifically. He loved him. He was gay, he loved Patrick, and he envisioned a future with him._ He tugged on his t shirt and then his jeans and buckled his belt. He set his revelation aside for now. He had to go downstairs, have breakfast, and act like his entire world had not flipped upside down.

  His mother had already finished making grits and eggs, his father nursing an Irish coffee. The downturn of his mouth was nevertheless somewhat pleasant this morning, even when Daniel's trepidation coated every moment he spent entering the kitchen, every second he spent sitting down, every motion he made. His father raked his fingers through his brown hair, which was getting a bit on the long end and needing a cut, his bottom lip gripped between his teeth as he looked at Daniel. He released his lip, his brow creasing together, lowering.

  "You alright, son?" He asked after a couple of seconds, folding his fingers together. "You look a bit tired." He tacked on. Daniel hadn't noticed how his shoulders had been slumping, his posture slightly leaned into the table like he was close to laying his head down on it's wooden surface. Daniel sat straighter now, looking at his father, eyes alert.

  "Yeah, I'm fine."

  "Good morning, Daniel," his mother said from the kitchen, "there's plenty of orange juice in the fridge, went out early this mornin' 'fore it got hot."

  "Thanks, momma," Daniel got up and went to the fridge, pulling a glass down and pouring, stepping back to the table. Once his mother had brought in the plates, they sat quietly for a minute, before his mother bowed her head.

  "What're you doing?" Gideon asked, a grin on his mouth.

  "Thought we'd say a blessin' this mornin'. Both of us are trying to get promotions, and Daniel's goin' back to school in a couple of months. It can't hurt."

  Gideon shrugged. They said blessings over dinner and holiday meals, nothing else, and so the oddity struck him. They all bowed their heads as his mother led, and then paused. A few moments were gone before Sarah spoke again, her voice sickening in it's sweetness.

  "Danny, do you have anythin' you'd like to add?" She placed him on the spot with that simple phrase. She had done this before. Prayers and then asking Daniel to speak, prompting him to come up with something to satisfy his parents. Ever since his Near Death Experience it was like she never stopped, her own personal crusade to make her son a believer and a perfect church boy. He swallowed his pride.

  "Uh... Thank You for my school and my friends...? And every moment we spend together, and bless us with more time together." It was sincere, at the very least. He believed he was blessed with great friends, with people he loved and cared for and couldn't ever stop caring for, even if he tried. Sarah nodded, and said an amen, and they ate their breakfast in peace. Gideon looked at his son, adjusting his glasses.

  "I'm going to the library later. Got some documents I gotta look over with an attorney. Figured you might wanna go with me...?" He arched his brow. Daniel looked at his father and for a moment he almost said yes, but something prevented him. He had something he wanted to look up. His mouth hung limply open for a second before he shook his head.

  "No, not today. Actually- could I use your computer? I gotta look up something for a summer assignment."

  "An _assignment?_ You didn't tell us you had anything to look up." Sarah interjected.

  "It's not _really_ for the summer, but I just wanna be prepared for what we're reading next semester. _'To Kill a Mockingbird'_ , I wanted to look it up and get a feel so I'd be ready." Daniel improvised, but it was said with such casual conviction he couldn't believe it had come from him. He'd always been decent enough at lying and saving his own skin, but every time it still felt different, almost pleasant and shocking in it's sharpness that he was able to produce such stories at the turn of a wrist. His father shrugged.

  "Password's taped under my desk. Don't go lookin' up anythin' you shouldn't." He chuckled breathily, forking scrambled eggs between his lips.

  "Will do- or, _won't_ do...?" Daniel laughed, and in good humor, his parents laughed and returned to breakfast.  


* * *

 

 _Don't go looking up anything he shouldn't._ Daniel sat before his father's computer, on the Wikipedia page for _'To Kill a Mockingbird'_ while his father straightened up his tie and slung a messenger bag over his shoulder. He walked over to Daniel, clapping his hand down on the boy's shoulder. "How's it coming?" He seemed genuine in his interest. _'To Kill a Mockingbird'_ had been one of his favorites in school, and Gideon had once tried to model himself after Atticus Finch; upright, just, and lawful. It was clear how far he'd fallen from that image, but all the same, he had once tried.

  "It's going fine," Daniel replied, "just reading on some of the background information on it."

  "Well, that's good. I'm headin' out, I'll be back in an hour maybe." He ruffled Daniel's hair roughly and made a brisk walk to the door, his barely  affected by the two Irish coffee's he'd downed that morning but would soon turn to his usual stumble by late evening. He walked mostly everywhere that was close by, so at least Daniel and Sarah didn't have to worry about him driving tipsy. Daniel watched his father leave, and remained on the web page for a bit longer, before the anxiety welled in his throat.

  His revelation last night had been met with glory and terror, but the glory had burned away like wine in a saucepan, and he felt only fear in his heart. The only safe guard was that Rachel had taught him - after reading him another awful fanfiction - how to delete internet history. With great hesitation and shaking fingers, he typed in something of a fragment of a memory.

_'Same-sex marriage legal California'_

  He found a few news articles, and scanned them quickly, knowing that even if he had an hour he didn't know if his mother was going to ask for him to help with something to to bring him into conversation. He read with more speed, absorbing every word, every article he could find. He discovered that this November, the ruling in California could be overturned, and felt sick. Why would they do that? Why would people just take away someone's right to get married, live a life together, get to be happy together? He took a second to breathe, to detach from the material before he continued reading. More articles on same-sex marriage, more articles on the LGBT community, people fighting for rights. He didn't even know there _was_ a community, let alone a large one. Everything had been kept from him in this small Georgian town, everything out of reach. How could there be an entire world out there, people just like him, and yet he couldn't reach out?

  It was unfair. It was _beyond_ unfair that he lived every single day dreading the judgement of his town and his parents with no one like him to talk to, cling to on every issue, confide in with his feelings. He only hoped one day his friends would be accepting, or at the very least he could be open about his feelings.

  It came to mind he had something he needed to read more on. He wasn't even sure of the feelings in the first place, despite last night's revelation and thousands of hours of daydreaming. How could he be sure? He was a teenager. He thought about all the times he heard his parents talk about how teenagers weren't sure of anything. They were kids. They were just learning, and feelings in those years were malleable. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he typed it in.

_'Is it okay for boys to like boys?'_

  It was a simple question he typed in, with thousands of answers. Articles, Yahoo Answers, people on their own blogs and websites trying to discuss it. Trying to open up and answer this question. Some said that _of course it was okay, if he was meant to feel this way he would and if he wasn't, he wouldn't._ And then many answers said _no, said that he should repent._ _He should repent repent_ \- it rang out in his head. He had to repent for his death and repent for his living and make amends for his loving. He had to be at fault for every little thing. It wasn't fair, it was beyond unfair and it made his stomach sick. He couldn't bear the thought that after all, everyone was right, the God of his parents did not want him and did not love him, because he was an abomination. A sinful abomination- he felt sicker and sicker every second, face red and hot, his breaths rushed. How could the God of his parents and friends hate him? How could the God of Abraham even hate anyone? Abraham was the living embodiment of the values that Daniel thought Christianity espoused; undying and unrelenting and unconditional love, kindness, the kind of compassion one dreamed about, the good heart that Daniel would never see turn bitter. Abraham was everything Daniel thought a Christian should be and yet, if his studies were right and if these articles were right, he couldn't even beg Abraham's compassion.

  He couldn't ask Abraham to love him. And he couldn't tell this revelation to him, knowing now what people thought the Bible said on his feelings. Did this mean that even after every moment of kindness Abraham had shown him, if Daniel came out to him, he would turn his back? He would never look at him with kindness in those green-hazel eyes. He would be disapproving now, as disapproving as his father.

  Daniel's sour stomach gnawed at him. He was about to type again when he heard the front door shut, and panic turned the edges of his vision black. He was frantically clicking, trying to find the web history, trying to find that day, find that moment, go back to Wikipedia go back and delete everything delete-

  He clicked delete all history. His heart was banging against his throat and his eyes were wide, with his cheeks flushed deep and burning red. He took a moment to breathe normally, calm himself, so that he could face his father like he'd done nothing wrong.

* * *

  He hadn't done anything wrong.

  He left the study and went to his room, his father passing him in the hall. He heard Gideon mumble about thinking he'd saved his password for a website, and fumble with papers in his desk, and knew he was safe.

  Daniel closed his bedroom door and exhaled, leaning his back to the wall. If everything he read was true, no one in his group would love him. And he had very few chances for friendship outside of them. So considering everything he'd just read and all the things that it meant, he wasn't even able to enjoy their company guiltless anymore.

  He was truly and terribly alone in this, and no matter what glory that word had held last night, it was now the burn of a skinned knee on concrete. It was terrible, but it was him nonetheless.


	84. Set Apart

  The rain came down in sheets. What had once been a normal, sunny afternoon turned dreary-grey, and the clouds overhead did nothing to alleviate the gloom. It followed Daniel as he paced his room, plumes of thought rising like smoke, words fluctuating in and out of his mind, rising and falling. He had to figure it out. He had to know; could he tell _anyone?_ He wracked his brain for an answer. Maybe Rachel wouldn't mind _but what if she did._ Abraham was a no. Johnny, while nonconforming, still fit in when it came to sports and socializing, so he probably shared the ideas Daniel predicted Abraham held. That left Jason, as Daniel had ruled Patrick out by default. And even so, Jason was a no, because while he didn't fit in with mostly anyone else he still tried to conform. Maybe deep down he would not be opposed to Daniel's sexuality, but on the surface? Daniel couldn't risk it.

  The weather was a terrible reflection of the way things were going in his life, debating, finding his way through this scenario. _Could he talk to Veronica and Arthur?_ They were the most nonconforming parents in this town, with Veronica's adoration for the strange practices of 80's New Age (not practicing it herself, but finding an aesthetic interest) and Arthur's upbringing as a loosely Catholic kid in Atlanta. The ideas they held towards everything were held quietly, wanting at least a peaceful existence for their daughter through the rest of high school. And Daniel could almost laugh at that, how Rachel was the most rebellious kid he knew, and if there were anything she'd have in high school, it was not a peaceful and serene existence. He could only see her always pumping her fists in the air and screaming at the top of her lungs about whatever she was thinking, speaking her mind with no regard as to how it was taken. She was infinitely more confident than anyone he'd ever met, with checkered shoes and her mismatched socks and the occasional vest. She was everything loud that the quiet town hated, and made damn sure it was known.

  Daniel thought back to the time they had briefly dated. He didn't know what had prompted him to enter the relationship other than perhaps a compulsory need to fit in. To at least uphold the standard of having relationships in his high school years. It felt ridiculous looking back. He'd never truly fit in because of his Near Death Experience, and coping with that meant accepting the fact that unless he got out of town, everybody knew of Lazarus, everybody knew the Hubbard boy had risen and had looked and saw nothing beyond the veil of human life. He could feel it like a constant thrumming in his veins, that there had been and was for him to be nothingness, and he had to either run or embrace the nothingness with anything he had. And if there were nothingness, he had nothing to fear in being gay, because in the end it would just be a dissolving into the void, or standing there forever waiting for something or in reflection.

  But the silence would be enough to drive anyone mad, so the void could never be a comfort. All that dark, all that silence, forever and ever, it was nothing peaceful. And then there was the idea of dissolution, and that terrified him even greater than the idea of infinity being dark and quiet. Dissolving and never being again, and everything he'd ever been being reduced to just particles and then particles reduced to void. He couldn't fathom that, all of this being for nothing. He figured that it had to do with his upbringing; that there was always going to be a judgement and a resurrection and a final battle of Armageddon. That there would be seven earthly years of Tribulation and a horror unknown to man would rise up and consume this world, or perhaps that was all of the H.P. Lovecraft books speaking to him. He had to admit his fascination with Cthulhu felt almost spellbinding, the way every word about the creature kept him in it's grasp.

  He padded to his window, his hands balled in fists and pressed against his hips. He stared at the rain that was slowly reducing to just slight waves, then after a while falling into just calm drops pouring down. He hoped it would stop soon, but he didn't count on it. Summer in Georgia was hot, humid, and when it rained, it rained long and hard and sometimes for days. He knew from his entire near-fifteen years living here that he couldn't really count on the weather for anything, so he stepped back from his window and instead made his way to his desk, pulling the chair back and seating himself, retrieving his notebook from a drawer and flipping through the pages. He had filled some of them with illustrations, just the best he could do - he was no art student by any standards, for sure - and the rest with description. He had found he was decent at describing things, enough that he felt like he wasn't embarrassing himself every time he wrote down a new passage. And they gave him relief, a sort of catharsis he wasn't aware was achievable until he tried.

_'Before our universe was another, celestial universe. And this universe contained a powerful alliance of galaxies, one of which was ruled by Zoxos. He was merciful and kind, and his people adored him. They gladly fought for him, some dying for him, because they knew in the end they would be rewarded highly either way.'_

  He scanned the passage before picking up his pen, adding onto the story with some fluidity. He wrote about how Zoxos had a brother (who was, at the moment, nameless) who was known for his rebellion, but was otherwise willing to assist the people in any way, even if it meant supporting his kinder, older brother. He was always on the move through the universe, meeting other entities, and learning the forms of other gods. And while Zoxos himself was known to be very dependable, his younger brother was wild, shaping himself in any way he felt suiting him, whether it be literal in changing his form or figurative in learning about their various worlds and changing his behaviors.

  Daniel set the notebook aside. He was bored as hell, frankly, and while he enjoyed absorbing himself in their universe, he didn't know what to do with the information he came up with. It all just came to him as he wrote, like a faucet he could turn on and off. He didn't know what to name Zoxos' brother, only that their Ancient Ones disapproved of him for his rebellious nature. Daniel put the notebook away for now and picked up his violin. He hadn't played in a few days, and so he was itching to get back to it. He placed his rest on his shoulder, then shifted his posture to stand fully upright and tall, and moved to his window. He rested one leg against the sill, looking out at the rain, and decided that today he wouldn't play anything taught. He had been taught music well enough, he was rather fluent if he said so himself, and he thought he was ready to relax and work with his own mind.

  So with a breath, he closed his eyes, and shut off the faucet of his mind. No sheet music, no memorized notes or melody. Just himself.

  He didn't know what came out of him, just that the music originating from the back of his mind and flowing to his fingers was pure Appalachia; the kind where Daniel ended up stomping out a tempo with one foot, the other leg still raised to rest at the windowsill. He was playing the fiddle as well as he could, putting everything into every little motion. All of these past two days, the love and the fear and the glory and the terror becoming one nameless melody that swooned and sighed and screamed with him. He didn't dare open his mouth to sing, because he knew that if he was using every ounce of himself, then he would surely out himself, and so it was nameless and wordless and everything he could muster for that moment. It was not the normal swooning and sweet sighs he knew of this instrument anymore. It was hollering and shouting and now becoming the rising tones of the south he had grown up in, the south that nurtured him with terrible bony arms, with long and plucking fingers, that branched off branches of magnolias and peach orchards.

  He didn't know how long he'd been playing, except that when he stopped and popped one eye open, the rain had ceased for now. The sky was still a daring and dreary grey, but somehow there was light touching the leaves and the street, the kind of weather that promised either rain or sun depending on which way you looked at it. He felt something welling up in his throat again, not the first time that day, and swallowed it down but it wouldn't go. He didn't quite understand it. The mythos of Cthulhu and the mythos he was writing and the question of acceptance and his makeshift melody all swirled together, every bit of it evoking something he couldn't explain. He didn't know how to. He thought on what he had just played and tried to set everything else aside. He knew he wouldn't be able to recreate it if he tried, but there was always hope for one day that he may.

  He set his violin down, his fingers aching, opened the window, and sat on his bed. He inhaled, exhaled the scent of fresh rain, and let himself relax. There was something in that melody that he couldn't explain in words, but it was the feeling of it that gave Daniel something real. Maybe he could write a piece on day with similar tune, but in his heart he knew he could never re-create that high and holy melody that came from somewhere deep in himself.

  All the same there were the things he was writing about Zoxos. He'd recently come up with his highest judge who was known for being fair. Quiet, speaking in hums, and fair. He wasn't sure where any of this was going, but figured if it went anywhere, it'd be towards a writing career. Sure, nothing he'd foreseen for himself, but something he may enjoy.

  Before he knew it he was being called down for dinner and so he set his thoughts aside, kept them bottled away, and walked downstairs. There was something in him that he left there, up in his room, the truest reflection of himself just the pinpricks on the back of his neck now. He was not Daniel, the gay violinist. He was Daniel, the revived son of the Hubbards. And it was this identity that, as he ate dinner and chatted with his family, knew he would always adopt in their presence. Even if one day by some miracle he wore a wedding band and had a man at his side, he would just be the revived son of the Hubbards, and nothing more than that unless he shifted the tides and changed his fate, declared his own life. And maybe setting himself apart from his family would bring him a life he wanted.


	85. Document The Moment

  It was morning, the sun cascading down into the dew-coated neighborhood, a pale marigold color that filled every crevice with sunlight. The shadows of trees were blue and cool, the heat of the day having not set in just yet.

  Johnny was not, legally, supposed to be driving. He didn't have his permit yet, he wasn't even old enough to get it. A few more months were necessary. Even though this was a fact of his life, he didn't really care for it, and had arranged for his friends to come over and hang out that morning. He hadn't told them he'd be driving his dad's truck around the neighborhood, reckoning it'd be best to surprise them.

  After breakfast, Daniel helped his mother clean up the kitchen and wash the dishes, both of them exchanging quiet words, still a bit tired despite his mother having been awake for a couple of hours and having coffee with her breakfast, as per usual. He told her that he was planning on hanging out with his friends, and she didn't ask where he was going as their neighborhood was relatively safe and quiet. Big town worries never plagued their tiny neighborhood, and so he got dressed and headed out the door, his gait brisk as he walked to the Taylor's house.

  The first thing he saw was Jason with his silver digital camera, taking photographs out in the yard. He was either keeping them or going to paint them later for practice, or even both, since he had taken up an interest in photography as of late. One eye was partially obscured by his hair, dark curls that he hadn't had cut in a few months. He considered himself their town's very own artist who one day would make it big. After all, he had to dream about his career if he wanted to pursue it.

  "Hey, Jason!" Daniel greeted with a beaming smile. Jason wordlessly motioned him out of the shot, took a few more pictures, and grinned.

  "Sorry 'bout that. Y'know. Morning, Danny." He combed his fingers through his hair, the sleeves of his twice-too-large navy blue flannel rolled up to his elbows, creating bulges of fabric. His jeans were probably older than he was, faded and worn but comfortable, his belt well-worn brown leather. His father had been cleaning out his old clothes, and Jason had decided to keep them instead of letting them get tossed out, and so dressed in his father's hand-me-downs, he looked small in the fabric despite how well the look suited him.

  "So, what're we doing this morning?" Daniel asked, his hands on his hips. There was a bit of a morning chill in the air, and he wished he'd brought a light jacket.

  "That'd be up to Johnny today," Jason shrugged, "he had some sort of idea we'll all go for a drive or something, so guess that's what we're doing."

  Daniel paused. "Is that even legal?"

  "Probably not." Jason said flatly. "But we're not leaving the neighborhood, so it won't be a big deal, I think." He added on, looking to his brother, who was standing nearby and going through CDs to play while he drove. Jason and Johnny had a sort of bloodless blood pact not to talk about their nights driving out to get donuts when they were upset, more so to ensure neither got in trouble with their parents or the law. Johnny may be a bit of a fighter, but he was far from stupid. As for Jason, he kept his side of the deal because he always had extra cash from chores and little jobs mowing people's lawns or caring for their plants and pets, so he was willing to pay as long as he got something out of it.

  While Johnny and Jason had long discussed whether or not this was a good idea, to even bring anyone along - if just for a leisure drive in the neighborhood - Johnny had pointed out that so long as they didn't get in any accidents, everything would be fine. Jason bit his tongue, because although he was nervous, he did like just driving with his brother and watching the world pass them by outside the windows. Not to mention, if he got Johnny in trouble, they wouldn't get to go on their late-night donut runs.

  "Do you have any ideas for the music?" Johnny asked, turning to Daniel, CD cases in a small shoebox. He'd grabbed a few from the living room shelves and they now sat in the grass, his jeans damp with morning dew. He looked like he was having a tough time deciding, the weight of his choices holding him down. It was either going to be rock or a mixtape he'd made. If there was anything Johnny took gravely serious, it was his music choices, and so he looked at Daniel like he was judge and jury. Daniel shrugged off the duty.

  "I don't know, uh, what are you in the mood for?"

  "Depends," Johnny said, with some severity in his voice, "really, I can't decide, so whatever you've got in mind you better tell me."

  "Ask the others, I'm not very good with decisions." Daniel laughed nervously, before he turned and looked out to the street, footsteps alerting him of someone else's presence. Rachel had pranced up, bouncing and breathing in the morning air. It seemed she was privy to what Johnny hadn't told anyone else, that he would be driving them around, and so a big smile was on her face as she placed her hands on her hips.

  "Morning, dudes, it's _too_ early but guess who managed to pull herself outta bed?" She gestured at herself with her thumbs, her grin spreading wider.

  "Well, since _you're_ here, I'm guessing you did." Johnny piped up from the grass.

  "Bingo!"

  "Pretty obvious answer, Rachel," he snorted, "you're the only girl in our group."

  Rachel paused, looking around. "Yeah, okay, you got me there." She stated, before messing with her bright red curls, fingers pulling them back and shaking them out. "So we're gonna go break the law like good little heathens?"

  "Correct." Johnny answered back, his grin almost mimicking hers. The two had the same sort of anarchist spirit, where the law was putty in their hands and they ripped it up to hear it snap. They had a bit of a tendency to conveniently "forget" there was such a thing as rules. If they both wanted to do something, they'd put their minds to it and go for it. Sure, they weren't out to be murderers, but they had a very specific disregard to the law, a code of conduct it seemed, that prevented them from committing any truly heinous crimes. But none of that mattered, all that truly mattered was that they were all going for a drive even when, in technicality, they weren't supposed to.

  "Alright," Johnny gestured Rachel over, "come help me pick the music, Bonnie."

  "Oh my gosh no, we're not Bonnie and Clyde." Rachel rolled her eyes, arms folded over her chest.

  "We totally are, though." He snickered.

  "Eat shit." Rachel snorted, sitting down in the grass next to him, pulling a few CDs into her lap, the cases gleaming in the mild-mannered sun. Jason had been taking photos of his brother surrounded by CDs, and now Rachel entered the frame, causing Jason to try different angles to feature the two. Rachel looked at him, quirking her brow, smirking.

  "So what's with the photography? Do I need to pose for you?" Rachel draped herself across the grass with her elbow poking into Johnny's leg, other arm outstretched to the sky, overly dramatic and good-natured. Jason chuckled quietly, getting a couple of pictures before tucking his camera into his pocket.

  "Nope, just for fun. I wanted to get shots of all of us and use them as references for my paintings. And who knows, maybe they'll be good reminders for college of where we came from." He answered, hands pressing into his pockets. Rachel watched him for a moment, sitting back up - especially as Johnny shoved her elbow, with how sharply it dug into his leg - and frowning.

  "No fair."

  "What?" Jason furrowed his brow.

  "Your pockets! You can fit an entire camera in one of them and I don't even see it!"

  "Yeah...?"

  "Look. Look at my pockets." Rachel stood up, digging her hands - with some effort - into her sad excuse for pockets, pulling out the lining for him to see. "Look how pathetic this is, I can't fit anything in these."

  "Hey, what the fuck?" Johnny looked up at her, his surprise carved on his features, "What sort of sadist designs women's pants?"

  "And sometimes," Rachel paused for dramatic emphasis, her voice lowering to a whisper, "the pockets are fake."

  "What the fuck! That's cruel." Johnny shook his head, turning his attention back to the CDs.

  "Yup." Rachel sat back down, criss-crossing her legs and helping dig through the shoebox for music.

  After a few minutes, they were joined by Patrick and Abraham, each arriving from their houses and learning what today's big deal was. Abraham had shrunk back, repeating Daniel's question of legality, but he received the same answer and decided that it was good enough despite the nagging fear in his bones. He and Patrick sat with Johnny and Rachel, entering the photographs on Jason's camera, all of them deciding to pose for him in the worst and silliest ways they could manage when Jason let them. Otherwise, the photos were primarily candid, quiet and warm, the shade of the trees keeping them from the bright sun.

  "Alright," Johnny announced, holding up two CDs, "we probably can't listen all the way through even one of these, but we have music." He looked proud of himself, rising and dusting himself off, taking the shoebox of music inside. When he emerged from the house, he walked to the truck and looked at all of his friends. For a moment, he hesitated, and pointing at each of them and counting quietly to himself, he pursed his lips.

  "Hm. There's six of us, right?"

  "Yeah?" Patrick looked around at his friends.

  "Okay. Five people can fit inside, one o'y'all's gonna have to be in the bed of the truck."

  "Okay- look, uh- not only is you being our driver illegal, but someone laying in the bed of the truck is also illegal. I don't think I wanna double break the law today." Abraham spoke nervously, holding up his palms. "I just don't think this is a good idea, y'know?"

  "You don't have to be in the bed of the truck, Abey," Johnny chuckled, "I didn't say you. And besides, it's either that, or someone's gotta ride in someone else's lap."

  There was a moment where they all muttered amongst themselves, trying to find some loophole, before Patrick raised his hand. "I'll take the truck bed. I just gotta lay down flat, right? So no problem, as long as no one sees me." He walked over to the truck, and with some help from Johnny, climbed into the bed. He sat there for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest like a vampire descending into their coffin, lowering himself down. They all laughed at the display before Jason handed Rachel the camera.

  "Take photos of anything you think looks interesting." he instructed before climbing into the passenger seat. Everyone's hearts were racing, thrumming in their veins as they slowly climbed into the truck, Johnny getting in on the driver's side. The Taylor's parents were out for most of the morning, their father having carpooled with a friend to help them with some work on the way there, and their mother at her job as well. Johnny and Jason had been lucky to overhear their parents talking about this beforehand, allowing them time to prepare for this.

  As everyone climbed in, Johnny craned his neck to see them. "Everyone ready?"

  Collective nods, a tap from Daniel against the back window for Patrick and Patrick giving a thumbs up. Their hearts were pounding as Jason put in a CD, a Beatles album, and Johnny backed out of the driveway.

  The first few minutes were filled with anxiety as Rachel took pictures out the windows, sandwiched between Daniel and Abraham and having to lean over them to get photos of the scenery, but as they put their trust in their friend the anxiety lessened. Soon they were chattering and comfortably filling up the space with their voices, mingling with the music, Rachel taking more pictures of her friends than the world outside by now. Everything was going well, good-cheer ripping out their nerves and allowing them to feel at peace.

  As time went by, the songs shifting slowly in and out, until a particular one caused Rachel to get a beaming smile. She passed the camera to Abraham, and told him to turn it to video. Rachel showed him how, and after a minute she was singing along to Love Me Do, her voice loud and breathy, laughs escaping her as she clapped to the rhythm, dancing as much as she could where she sat. Daniel watched on, listening to her as the lyrics and laughs rolled from her mouth, Jason piping in occasionally to help her carry the tune. The world was perfect, and there was nothing they felt fear of while they enjoyed their time and their sense of youthful wonder.

  Patrick, laying in the bed of the truck, watched the sun go by and occasionally reached up and brushed the leaves of trees that reached down to meet him, Adam and God's fingers touching, light and delicate like a painting. He had been thinking a lot about some things he and Abraham had discussed, and sometimes would look up through the back window and see the boy and Daniel and Rachel all talking, singing together and laughing, and his world felt like it was entirely entertwined with theirs, and that nothing could tear them apart.

  The drive lasted perhaps an hour before Johnny pulled into the driveway, all of them climbing out and cackling and joking, walking through the gate to the Taylor's back yard, sprawling out on the grass and talking about their expedition.

  "That was so fucking fun," Rachel jabbed Johnny with her elbow, "you better get your license soon so we can do that any time."

  "Yeah, gotta wait, but I'll try to get it in the near future." He grinned, and soon they had moved onto the topic of music, laying in the grass as the sun shifted in the sky. They had just been talking about music, when Abraham inhaled and exhaled quietly, a soft smile on his lips.

  "I've always liked The Beatles," he told them, "I want the song _'Oh My Love'_ played at my wedding, if I ever get married."

  " _If?_ " Rachel questioned.

  "Yeah, come on, Abey. Any girl would be lucky to have you. After all, you're way more sensitive than most dudes." Johnny joked. "But seriously, don't doubt yourself. You're a good guy."

  "Thanks," Abraham hummed, "but it's a bit more complicated than that."

  No one asked why, even though the question was on their minds. Rachel simply announced that whoever she marries better be ready for the wedding to have a black and red color scheme, and that whoever she ends up with better be ready to handle her and all of her, and they all laughed. She was a handful, but everyone had confidence in her.

  As Daniel laid there he wondered more so now, more than ever, if he could tell Abraham about what was on his mind, but decided against it. Today was a good day, he wasn't going to ruin it.

  "Hey," Jason said after a while, "before you guys go home, let's get some _actual_ pictures together." He gestured for Rachel to hand him his camera, and she passed it over quickly, and Jason held it up. Everyone squeezed in, posing comfortably with each other. The camera was passed around several different times, everyone having the chance to take their own group photo with everyone else. This repeated several times, some photos just for kicks and silly, some treated more like representations of themselves, over and over until dozens of pictures had been taken. As everyone departed and went their own directions, Johnny looked at his brother.

  "So, seriously. What's with the camera?" He had his hands shoved in his pockets. Jason stared down at the LED screen, scrolling through some of the ones taken that day and smiling gently.

  "Nothing, I just wanted to have good memories of all of us."

  "Uh, okay?"

  "It's just- we're all going to be college students in a few years. Never know if we're gonna be this close again, right? So why not save some memories? Plus... uh, don't tell anyone, but I've got this weird feeling in my stomach about something, and wanted to- I don't know, document today."

  Johnny stared at him, the grave look in his twin's eyes, and he nodded. "I get you there. We're in high school. Groups split in high school, it happens." He roped his arm playfully around Jason's shoulders, his smirk wide, "But you can't ever get rid of me, so not like we'll split." He joked. Jason laughed, rolling his eyes.

  "Yeah, I'm stuck with you. Sometimes I swear we're not related." Jason spoke, Johnny ruffling his hair.

  "You're right. Mom and dad cloned me from your DNA specifically to give you hell."

  "Gosh, if only." Jason rolled his eyes.

  "It's true. And I feed on your life force to sustain me." Johnny chuckled, watching his brother's face as he frowned at him.

  "Yeah? Well, I was made specifically to give _you_ hell, too."

  There was a pause, both of them trying to figure this out.

  "But if _you're_ the clone, and _I'm_ the clone..." Jason trailed off.

  "We have a secret, third brother. I'm sorry I never told you." Johnny pressed his hand to his chest in one solemn motion. "His name is Jackson, and he lives in the basement."

  "We don't _have_ a basement."

  "Not one that _you_ know about." Johnny retorted with a wink, opening the back door, the two heading inside and continuing their improv, laughing as they expanded the story and worked out the details, shoving each other and relishing the moments they had together. Summer would end eventually, so they both held hope to enjoy it with their friends as long as it lasted.


	86. Camera

  The closing of a chapter. Summer was coming to the end, winding down in flutters of cooler breezes and quiet motions like a hand sweeping over a dust-covered table to clean the slate. Rachel had begged and begged, after the day spent with Johnny and Jason - not mentioning they had gone driving, of course - for a camera of her own. She had stopped just short of making a presentation as to why she needed one, and after negotiating with her family on what terms she would get one, she got to pick it out a day in early August. It was cheap and small and perfect for her. She'd done her chores and baited her breath and waited patiently, and now she finally had the one thing she had set her eye on.

  So one day, a couple of weeks before the beginning of the semester, she had invited Patrick and Daniel over. She hadn't said what for, but they were to come to her house that afternoon and hang out. No complaints from either. Rachel was, after all, one of their best friends.

  All July had been spent, for Daniel, in steeping in trepidation. He had noticed himself becoming more melancholic as time went by, a sort of disenchantment with the life he lived. Day in, day out, same life and same parents and same house and same friends. It wasn't that he was unsatisfied by these things. He loved his friends, and even when his family was giving him hell, he loved them somewhere in his heart, too. But he'd spent his summer, when not out with friends or at the library, sprawled across his bed and listening to the creakings of his house and the CD Rachel had given him. His father's voice. His mother's voice. Veronica. _I know my Redeemer lives..._

  And his trepidation, most of all, was fueled by his realization of his feelings. He had mulled over them for more time than he could admit out loud to his family, allowed himself to think more and more on it. The moment he had told his mother he wanted to give a Valentines card to Patrick was the moment this spiral began, his own inferno, swelling up in his chest and expanding outward. He was Daniel and he was in love with Patrick and he was tired of hiding it. At the very least, if they talked, and Patrick didn't want to be his friend anymore, they could part and that would be it. He could live with that, right? And at the very best, Patrick would want to be his friend, even if he didn't reciprocate.

  The best outcome he could see was one where he didn't get what he wanted, but he knew he'd get what he needed. He would get what he needed in the end, he knew it, he had faith that this would all work out for the best.

  That didn't mean he wasn't terrified, every bone in his body rejecting the notion, but he would survive as best he could. He would know when the time was right and he would take his time with this, how weighty it was on his shoulders.

  That afternoon, a hot August day with a swaying breeze that shifted it's direction every few moments, he made his way to Rachel's house. Patrick was already at the door, back to Daniel, bouncing from the ball of his heels to his toes, shifting his weight, lifting himself up. Daniel made his way up the porch steps, his hands in his pockets.

  "Hey," he wormed a grin onto his lips, and Patrick turned quickly to him, his smile beaming, always beaming.

  "What's up?" Patrick shielded his golden eyes from the sun as he spoke, his burgundy hair shining in the sun, loose waves swayed over his forehead. The past few years had been kind to him, giving him a few inches in height and his own routine giving him shoulders that, no doubt, would one day be firm and broad. He was growing from pretty to handsome, flourishing. Daniel, meanwhile, saw himself as wilting, the small town upbringing doing him more harm than good.

  "I'm fine," Daniel replied, keeping his smile friendly, "just wondering what Rachel's up to today." He added. Patrick snickered, shaking his head.

  "Who knows? It's Rachel."

  "You're right." Daniel chuckled, his posture loosening. "Are you ready for school?"

  "Are you kidding me? I'm so bored, dude. I've just been laying around all summer unless I'm with you guys. I'm so ready to get back into the swing of things."

  "Me too," he mumbled, "I just wanna get out of here, y'know?"

  "Me too." Patrick agreed. A beat passed, then he bounced a bit, his smile growing wider, "Oh, Danny! I got the part of Clyde, did I tell you?"

  "What- really?" Daniel's enthusiasm coated his voice, his cerulean eyes gleaming.

  "Yeah! I'm amped, hope y'all will come and see it." Patrick turned back to the door as it opened, Rachel giving them such an excited and proud expression they could almost think she won the lottery. She motioned them inside, her proud marching gait leading them to the living room

  _"Sooooo,_ boys, what's happening?"

  "Uh- not a lot, Rachel. What's this about?" Patrick gestured up and down at her. Rachel merely gave him a suppressed giggle and placed her hands on her hips.

  "I got something _real_ fuckin' rad. Come on, come on," she motioned with rotations of her arm to follow her, and giving each other confused and curious looks, Patrick and Daniel followed her upstairs. Rachel bounded ahead of them, and once she got there, she snatched up her new and shiny camera from her desk and whipped it out, snapping a picture of Patrick and Daniel staring a bit dumbfounded, not processing for a moment. She grinned.

  " _This_ bitch got a camera."

  "Yeah- I see that," Patrick rubbed his eyes, the flash having momentarily stunned him, "geez, that's bright."

  "I'll turn off the flash."

  "Please do."

  Daniel walked into her room, sitting down on the floor, back against her bed. "When did you get it?"

  "Like... The fifth, maybe?" She shrugged, but her wide and bright expression had not ceased. She was ecstatic, the electric charge of her emotions sending a shock through all of them, the charge of it tugging grins to their faces. Daniel and Patrick looked to each other, then to Rachel, who was beckoning Patrick into her room further. She shut the door and went to her computer, loading up a CD and taking a photo of her friends as they turned to look at her, the tiniest motion blur tinging it.

  "We'll be Sophomores this year," she stated, setting the camera down, "and in all these damn years I don't have many photos just of us, so I decided I'm doing something about that. Pluuuuuus, you guys are like, my best friends, and you think I'm not gonna take every chance to get pictures with my best friends?"

  Patrick chuckled, rolling his eyes. "So this is a scheme to fuel your ego?"

  "Yep!"

  "Nice. I hope to look the most beautiful of us," he held his fingers flat together and pressed them under his chin, smiling a sort of faux-angelic smile and turning his gaze to the ceiling. Rachel chortled, grabbing her camera and snapping a picture of him, Daniel standing a bit away. She pouted at him.

  "Aw, come on, Danny. Join him! I'll get a picture of you two together."

  "Yeah dude, join me!" Patrick slung his arm around Daniel's shoulder, and Daniel hesitantly wrapped his arm around Patrick's waist, his nervous smile quivering to his lips. Rachel took the photo before hopping between them, turning it and pressing the button. She waited a moment.

  "Hang on, I _think_ it took that one." She checked the LED screen, reviewing her photo with them, and sighed in relief. "Thank fuck. It's hard to take pictures of yourself on this thing."

  "You want me to take the pictures?" Patrick offered. Rachel handed him the camera.

  "Have fun." She chuckled, roping her arm around Daniel's neck, bringing him down an inch. The blond hunched down for her, and Patrick snapped the photo with a beaming expression. There was so much joy in the three of them combined, the moment feeling full and warm, like arms meant to coddle and cradle their lives with gentle compassion. Patrick handed the camera to Daniel and allowed him to take the next few photos, and soon it was being passed around between the three. Rachel hopped up on her bed, bouncing for a minute, shouting for them to strike poses and taking photos every time they did, most of them silly and playful and perfect for her memories. She then brought them up on the bed with her, the three bouncing up and down and around as the camera tried it's best to focus in on them. Each photo was a motion blurred smile, each photo was pairs of sunshine eyes and rosy cheeks from summer heat and bouncing hair in burgundy and blond and bright red. Their energy was dazzling in the afternoon, their bodies barely containing the radiance of the moment's power.

  Rachel had plans for them, to take photos every chance she got, ready to document the last few years of high school. She had wanted more than anything to spend her time now with a camera and her two best friends at her side.

  Breathless and full of laughter, they all collapsed into the bed, sitting in a circle, Rachel reviewing the photos with them and all three snorting at how horrible they were, how every motion had made them impossible to truly discern after a certain point but that somehow made them all the more precious, all the more gorgeous in their twinkling eyes.

  "We're gonna be best friends forever." She stated, almost out of the blue, jerking the attention of the two boys to her.

  "Who's to say one of us isn't gonna marry you?" Patrick quickly arched and lowered his brow, a smug smirk on his lips, giving her half-lidded and sarcastic eyes.

  "'Cause while we're all friends, I don't think either one of you could control me. It'd take both of you."

  "That's the thing about marriage though, we're not supposed to control the other person, right? So you could just be you." Daniel hooked his finger and pressed it to his chin, rolling his wrist at the end of his statement.

  "True! Alright, I'll take double-marriage for two-hundred, Alex." She grinned. "I'm marrying both of you. You're my husbands now."

  "Aw- come on, Rachel! You can't marry both of us." Patrick protested.

  "Why not? Mormons do it."

  "Maybe in like, the eighteen-hundreds." Patrick spat. "You can't marry both of us, so make your choice."

  "Nah. I'll marry you both. It's a secret though, so don't tell anyone." She winked conspiratorially at them, and Daniel let a laugh roll from his lips, pressing his hand to his mouth.

  "So, does that mean we're _both_ married to each other?" Patrick turned to Daniel, his index finger pointing at the other, then himself, back and forth a few moments. Daniel paused, his cheeks flushing rosy, a nervous palm rubbing the back of his neck.

  "Does it?" He asked, turning to Rachel, practically pleading. He didn't know what for. Maybe yes and maybe no, he wasn't even sure, he just wanted her to say something. Rachel shrugged.

  "Anything wrong with that, boys?"

  Both of them were quiet, Daniel's heart pounding in his chest as he looked between Rachel - who was shrugging like there was no issue - and Patrick - who was sitting dumbfounded - and he wanted right then and there to die, collapse into dirt and die so he wouldn't have to hear the answer.

  "Eh, guess not, since you're our shared wife. So we're just married-by-wife, guess." Patrick rolled his eyes with a grin.

  "Exactly! Or we're just best friends forever by a blood oath, but I think that's just how it is."

  "What blood oath?" Patrick exclaimed. "I never took a blood oath!"

  "Sure you did. You just don't remember it."

  There was a silence between all of them before Rachel tumbled over, red curls flowing everywhere, cackling at the ordeal. "Fuck- you're blood oath bound to me _and_ double-married! This is the best relationship we could ever have. I'm fucking _crying-_ " she wiped her eyes, which were indeed wet, " _-fuck!_ We're all blood oath bound and married. I love it. I love you guys."

  Daniel and Patrick found the humor in it as well, both cackling alongside the girl, letting go of their own anxieties about this situation. They talked for another couple of hours before the two boys decided to leave, going home for dinner. They bid their blood oath bound best friend and also double-married wife goodbye, stepping out of the house and onto the porch.

  It was August, hot August, the sort of hot that screamed on your skin and left steam rolling out of ice in plumes. Patrick held up his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, gold-meets-gold, and Daniel watched him from where he stood on the porch, his eyes on the figure of the boy he'd fallen so deeply and terribly for. It was the usurping of an upbringing that left ringing in his ears, the fact he loved Patrick, the simple golden fact, the simple ink-wet note in the back of his mind. And now he knew it well, recognized that feeling in the pit of his stomach, and as Sophomore year lingered on the horizon, he resolved to tell him soon. He would. Daniel knew it couldn't wait, and as Patrick bid him goodbye and went home, he stood on Rachel's porch a little longer and acknowledged this moment as his promise to himself. A solemn vow made in fire-hot sunlight.

  He would tell him soon.

_Soon._


	87. Diversion Tactic

  Sometimes, what Daniel wanted was not what he got. He had told his father he hated fishing, and so Gideon hadn't persisted for some time. He'd seldom asked his son to go with him, but one morning, he decided they needed some father-son bonding.

  "Can we just do our father-son bonding somewhere else? Like Lafayette's or on a walk?" Daniel had suggested over breakfast the day before. Gideon had shaken his head, sipping his coffee. Black coffee with nothing else in it. He was trying.

  "Daniel, you don't gotta fish. You can just sit and watch if that's what you like." Gideon offered in return. He knew his son didn't like these outings. And he knew why; the look in his eye was enough. The spearing of a small life to catch another and to steal that life as well. It was a distorted way to look at the world, but Gideon had watched his son grimace every time he had to spear a worm the last time they went, and he knew. Either way, however, there was no deterring Gideon from trying to spend time with the boy. Daniel stared at his father, the way the other rubbed his jaw and then took a sip of his coffee, and figured he had no choice. He reluctantly agreed, and so the next afternoon they set out, driving quietly to the same place as always. Gideon had grown up here, in the quiet motion of water and the fish that swam unaware of the end. He pulled out the folding chairs, setting one out for his son and one for himself, and the two remained silent. Neither was sure how to navigate this moment.

  The planning was about as poor as it could get on either side's part. Neither knew what to talk about. Daniel watched his father as he tossed the line out to the water, the plunk resounding from the surface, and he sat quietly at his side. There was a long pause drawn out between them.

  "So," Gideon finally began, clearing his throat, "heard you broke up with Rachel."

  "Yeah." _Last year, actually._ Did Gideon even remember that? Did his mom have to remind him? "We're uh- just friends."

  "Damn shame." Gideon shook his head, "Y'all were good together."

  Daniel looked at his father, the man whose voice and actions were supposed to guide him but instead had been misplaced. Whose actions had been terrible. Whose voice had been rough and wrought with something he couldn't name; bitterness but something deeper. And who had been drunk most of the past few years, drowning himself.

  He didn't speak for a bit.

  "I think Rachel and I are better as friends, I'm afraid." Daniel chuckled just lightly, wry in it's sound. "She's like- I don't know, my best friend, aside from Patrick."

  "Yeah." Gideon nodded. "I get it, I've been in relationships like that." He raked his fingers through his hair, then waited, sucking in the skin of his cheek for a moment. "Y'got anyone you've got your eye on?"

 _Yes. Yes. He did. He had Patrick, bright gold-eyed beautiful Hyacinth._ Daniel swallowed. "No." He hated this he hated lying and everything it entailed but no, he could never talk about the truth of the matter. "I really just don't feel..." he trailed off, and his father quirked his brow, turning his head to look at the boy, "...I guess I don't feel connected to people. Like that- I mean- you know." Daniel's cheeks felt hot in the sun and he hoped he wasn't making a fool of himself. His father smirked, gently patting his son's shoulder, giving him a firm-but-consoling and mild shove.

  "You'll find someone one day. I mean, I found your momma."

 _Yeah. And how well was that working out?_ Daniel bit his tongue. It seemed the realization dawned on his father, as the man placed his hand over his mouth, dragging it down to his jaw and rubbing absently.

  "I know. But I'm tryin', you can't blame a man for that." Gideon stated when he sensed the tension in his son's demeanor, his dark eyes gazing out at the water, the silver-white line from his fishing rod illuminated in the light. "We all got our own demons, Dannyboy, you'll learn that soon enough. Heaven knows you know by now."

  When Gideon was entirely sober, Daniel realized, it was a totally different person. Drunk Gideon was tired and melancholic, conflict-prone, boiled-blood. But this side of his father, which in recent years seemed few and far between for Daniel, was quiet and perceptive. He knew what was on his son's mind- or as much as his own mind allowed. He didn't perceive, it seemed, Daniel's current position, and for this the boy was grateful.

  "Dad? Have you ever been to Atlanta?"

  "Sure I have. We live a few hours from it. Plus, your granddaddy lived there for a bit before you were born."

  Daniel felt the man's answer was shot back too quick. Gideon tightened his hold on the fishing rod.

  "Do you like it there?" Daniel asked. Gideon shrugged.

  "Bit noisy for my taste."

  "Alright... Is there anything interesting to do in Atlanta? Anything?"

 _Crack._ Gideon leaned his head rapidly to the side, the age-old habit making itself prominent in the motion. "I suppose there's stuff. I don't really remember. Fourteen, maybe fifteen years is a long time." He answered in a manner that made Daniel's stomach turn. Dead in tone but still maintaining an air of pleasantry. Gideon slowly shifted his torso to look at his son, elbow digging into his knee as he lightly rested his jawline on the tips of his fingers. "Why? You thinkin' 'bout goin' sometime?"

  Daniel swallowed thickly, his throat filled with molasses, shaking his head. "No, not really. Maybe for college, I don't know yet." He answered back, a bit quieter than before. Gideon stared at him, and then rubbed his jaw absently again, before turning his attention back to the water.

  "Makes sense. Good schools there. You'd probably enjoy it. Y'always did strike me as a city boy." He twitched a grin to his lips. "But I'd recommend that community college I went to. Cheaper, pretty nice. You'd like it. Lots'a kids from here end up there, no doubt you'd be with friends."

  He watched his father for a second before he turned his own gaze back to the water, the way the light played on the surface in serene glass stillness, disrupted occasionally by the breeze or motion beneath. He wondered why, out of all the universes out there, he had ended up in this one and in this moment. He quietly shifted in the chair, leaning forward, gazing at the water. He wanted to talk about something- anything, really. He just didn't want the silence, but he had nothing to talk about but his situation with Patrick or his fiction writing, which he knew would not go over well with his father. Either one of those was a lose-lose. He took his time to breathe and think, which eventually was interrupted by his father turning his gaze back to him, adjusting his glasses.

  "So Daniel, you enjoy violin?" He asked, his attempt at conversation appreciated but almost lazy. Daniel only nodded. Gideon watched for a moment, then stared back at the horizon, and then sighed. "Look, I'm tryin'. You may not believe me, but I am. So if you wanna talk about anything, just talk, I wanna... I wanna be better."

 _Did he? Did you?_ Daniel's chest felt viscous and sick, thick with fluid as he tried to process this moment. _Did he really want to try? Had he ever tried?_ Had he sang the same damn song over and over for years, over and over for hours? Hadn't he said the same sort of thing over and over and became nothing but a broken record to his son and wife? Daniel doddled on these thoughts a moment too long, and when time had passed that felt more than ample, Gideon shook his head.

  "People don't get better overnight. You've had colds. You gotta take medicine and sleep and eat easy shit for a while. And then you get better. Same with... Same with _this._ " He pinched the bridge of his nose roughly, rubbing. "So... Ah, screw it. You wouldn't get it, you're a kid."

 _Yeah._ Daniel watched his father, a frown on his own mouth. _Don't push your problems and recovery onto your child,_ he could practically feel the words flowing just between them, floating comfortable like a balloon tethered to the ground. _Don't push your addiction, your conflicting nature, your issues. Don't push them onto your kid._

  Gideon didn't speak for a bit. Then he forced a small smirk to his face, leaning back in his chair. "Wanna hear about the time I got in a fist fight with Cooper?" It was probably the best diversion tactic on earth. Tell all about the time he beat up the now-pastor of their church. Daniel leaned forward a bit, and wordlessly nodding to indicate interest, Gideon began. "We went to school with each other, which you already know. So 'course we never really got along. He was stuffy, even back then. Believe me when I say he _mellowed out_ in college, actually. But back to the point. Stuffy little son of a bitch, right? So one day I just got sick of it. I told 'im he could take his holier-than-thou attitude and stick it where the sun don't shine." He rolled with a breathy laugh, his grin growing on his face. "But 'course, knowin' ol' Cooper Bryant, he didn't take that in good humor. Threw the first punch. So, since I've got the best right hook in the county, I took his little ass to town."

  "Oh my gosh-" Daniel breathed.

  "Yeah. He got what was comin' to 'im. Hell, I could probably _still_ kick his ass six ways to Sunday, just ain't got the chance yet. But I've been itchin', I'll tell you that."

  Daniel waited a second, before posing the question on his mind. "If you _did-_ y'know, kick his tail six ways to Sunday _now,_ what do you think'd happen?"

  "We'd be socially ostracized so long as we three shall live for allowing me to kick the preacher's ass. Your kids for generations would be the descendants of _'that bastard that beat up a pastor once'_ \- though in all honesty, it was more than once," he punctuated with a wink, "but I think it'd be worth it. Havin' people read off your kid's last name and know that that's a family you don't mess 'round with, we'll do what we gotta. But still." A beat. Gideon looked at his son. "But in all seriousness, don't go out gettin' the shit kicked outta you. You don't have the arms to defend yourself. And I don't wanna be helpin' defend you in court. Assault and battery charges ain't shit to laugh about."

  "Would you even be allowed on the case?" Daniel questioned, skepticism in his eye.

  "Nah, but I know most of the other paralegals in town. I'd get shit for it for months." He shrugged. "Hell, I know _I'd_ give them shit for the same thing, so..." He trailed off, sure his son got the point. Daniel stared at his father in a sort of wonder. This was the same man who used to get in fights with Brother White. This was the same man who'd been one of the top paralegals in town, one of the best graduating from his college, 12th in his class in high school, who'd slashed Brother White's tires on occasion and never got caught because they couldn't prove it was him, always narrowly avoiding consequences. But it seemed consequences catch up with one, even if not instantly. Karma got him one way or another.

  "Oh, son, don't go tellin' your momma 'bout all that. I mean, she knows, but she wouldn't approve of me tellin' you all 'bout that." Gideon winked at the blond, and Daniel nodded rapidly. As long as there were more stories about the pastor getting decked by his father, he was keen to keep the secret.

* * *

 

  They stayed at the water for a bit, but nothing was biting that afternoon. Gideon packed them up and drove home, the radio set to gospel, the music old and screaming worship. There was something romantic about gospel music to Daniel. Maybe because it brought back his earliest memories of his childhood, or maybe because he knew no matter where he went that it would all be similar in tone and attitude and message, but there was a familiar romance to it any time he heard it that made him unable to change the station or plug up his ears. He may not believe in what the singers did, but it was a strong conviction in their voices, the same he once bore. It was nostalgic, in some way, to bring back the memories of being innocent and happy and perfectly fine believing in the message that Brother White preached. But now he was older and bitter and tired. He was done with the message they had sold him. He had seen what there was to see, touched the void and returned lackluster and disillusioned. So now he just listened as it were any other music. There was nothing for him but the beauty of music and the familiarity, and that was all he had.

  He wanted to believe in something but nothing was all he had seen, and so nothing was all that remained.


	88. Bittersweet Dance

  It was noon, Daniel having run off to hang out with his friends, leaving Gideon and Sarah at home. Both had a day off today, the one day they had in common every week, so they remained in the kitchen. Gideon sipped his second Irish coffee and skimmed the newspaper like a portrait from the 1950s, a father who worked and raised his son, except not at all, just the facade that he placed carefully into frame. And of course, his stunning wife who everyone could see was becoming tired, the exhaustion melting in her features but which she covered dutifully with makeup. Red lips, concealer a tone rosier, blush at the highest points of her cheekbones. Their situation was not unique. There were many out in the world in the exact same places as they, stuck in the frame of mind that this was forever. This was their forever, and that's all that they knew.

  "Well, shit," Gideon mumbled from the table, bent fingers resting over his sharp nose.

   "What?" Sarah piped up from by the kitchen sink, rinsing out the crockpot in preparation for tonight's dinner.

  "One of the attorneys I used to work for just died. Monty, you remember 'im? Tall, smoked a pack a day? Yeah, this past week, freak illness. Monty Carver, seventy-one."

  "Damn," Sarah shook her head, setting the crockpot aside and twisting the faucet, water stopping, "the one who was at our wedding?"

  "Yeah, him."

  "Gosh." They remained quiet for a moment, reflecting over the news. It was not so much his passing that they now remembered, but the wedding day, all those years ago when they were bound together. They had been so bright and young, still in college and just tasting freedom like fine wine. Sarah's family home was now where they resided, the old house on Redford that had been built with her great-grandfather's bare hands. It creaked and moaned on occasion, wearing it's years well and warmly. Her mother had reluctantly allowed them to live there with her before she decided on moving out, happy to give them room. Her room had been fixed to a nursery and then to the bedroom they knew now, their son's room, his bookshelf and desk older than either of his parents.

  Gideon watched his wife out of the corner of his eye, her wedding band glowing gold in the light. She was beautiful and wonderful and everything he had loved as a younger man. Maybe, he mused, maybe if they had been smarter then things would be better. If they could have just thought things through with the minds they had now, how much would be different? He had learned early in his life that questioning things like this, things that had no chance of ever blooming to fruition was a pointless endeavor. So instead, he quietly rose up from the table and walked to Sarah, whose attention was on the scenery outside the kitchen window - always a little bit of a daydreamer, even if she refused to acknowledge it - and he slid his arms around her midsection, resting his chin on her shoulder.

  "What're you thinkin' about?" he asked quietly, staring out the window as well. She grinned and stood still, folding her hands over his.

  "Oh, nothing."

  "Can't be nothin', _Jolly Jolene_ , you've always got somethin' going on up there."

  "Yeah, 'cept now." She hummed.

  "I don't believe that for a moment. What's on your mind?" He mumbled, swaying mildly with his wife in his arms. Her smirk grew wider as she rolled her eyes, leaning her head lightly to the side, but remained tight-lipped. "Come on, _Joley,_ do I gotta force it outta you?"

  "You could sure try." She taunted. "It ain't gonna work." She then paused, and feeling his arms around her and feeling how calm the day was, she relinquished. "I just keep thinkin' about that. Monty was a good man, a real sweetheart. He was so fun on our wedding day, can't believe he's gone."

  "It's a shame, yeah," he agreed, "he was the guy you brought to help you pick out your dress, right?"

  "Yeah, and he did it well." She closed her eyes, her smile fading. "It's... Sad. We should've called him more."

  "Would'a could'a should'a, but he's... Well, gone, Joley, he was in his seventies, it happens."

  "You don't think it'll happen to us until it does, Giddy." She muttered in reply, a bitterness overtaking both of them. They could hear the laughter drifting in from the yard, the kids having probably rushed up near the house and now goofing around as they did. Sarah furrowed her brow, then in a voice neither could discern was concerned and sad or simply stating fact, her lofty gaze remained out the window as she spoke. "Where do you think Daniel's headin'?" When Gideon gave her no response, she breathed. "When he gets to college. And when he gets outta college. Where do you think he's headin'?"

  "With talent like his? Music, he'll be a fantastic musician."

  "I'm surprised you didn't say a lawyer," Sarah joked, "you always used to joke he'd go to law school, remember?"

  "Yeah, well, with his abilities I can't see him hangin' 'round a bunch of stuffy old guys." He thought for a moment, reflecting on his son's ability with the violin, the natural way that he could pull a melody out of the air with the motions of a bow and strings, creating a song from his small heart, able to stir emotions into the pit of any listener's stomach. "Where d'y'think he gets it from?"

  "Your side. None of us were ever musical." She paused a bit longer this time, intending to move away from her husband and get to some work she'd taken home, but Gideon drew in a breath and held it momentarily.

  "...He's got that look in his eye. You've seen it."

  "What look?" She quirked her brow, craning her neck to get a look at her husband's face. Then he pressed a kiss to her temple, pressing his hand to the other side of her head.

  "That old southern charm you got. He's got it too, gonna be a hit with the ladies one day." He jested, and Sarah playfully slapped his arm, Gideon sliding his arms from around her.

  "Oh, hush. He better not be _too_ much of a hit with'em if you get me." The two of them laughed at her little comment as Gideon took her hands in his, light and tender, and she rolled her eyes. She had always embraced his more playful side whenever it had come out, and now she learned to embrace it whenever she could. Playful was a step up from cynical, from droning on and on about the terrible things they had done, listing them off in bitter snaps and slurs of words from his drunken mouth.

  "Remember when we were dating?" He breathed.

  "You used to think you could rule the damn world," she replied, their distance large then small as they slowly moved in the kitchen, swaying and pulling the air between them in their motions. "You could've if you kept it up."

  "You used to think the same though," he reminded her, "you got whatever you wanted."

  She stopped. "What does _that_ mean?" Gideon didn't even balk at her question, just shrugged his heavy shoulders.

  "Your entire family practically owned this town once.

  "Yeah, _once_ ," she snapped, "ain't like that though, the Dirkse family ain't that powerful."

  "Thought you would've wanted to be." He frowned. She scrunched up her nose, lowering her brow. "I mean, you did a damn good job keepin a'hold on everyone in school." He folded his arms over his chest, and Sarah made a sort of noise in her throat, full of disgust and frustration.

  "Y'don't keep a tight leash on people, y'don't know what they'll do."

  "You know what that is? Paranoia."

  "It's called covering my fucking bases." She hissed.

  "It's _called_ not lettin' people in."

  "Oh! _Oh_ are _you_ one to talk about that? Are you really- are you _serious?!_ " Her voice was raising in tone and volume, shrill in notes. They were both quiet, before she pressed her palm over her face, slowing her breathing. Her voice was low, a tremor in the earthquake tones, "...We were having a nice moment."

  Gideon was quiet for some time as well, his shoulders drooping. "...We were."

  "Do you think Daniel's gonna end up like us?" She let the question teeter from her lips and into the air, the possibility dawning on them both.

  "...I think he's gonna be more like you. Gosh. I hope he's more like you." Gideon said. "At least then he won't be carryin' my reputation."

  "Your reputation only extends as far as you let it, Gideon Everest. You let people call you the town drunk 'cause you don't do anything about it. And then... Well, as for the reputation you had when you transferred to the paralegal program. And only Brother White really gives a damn about the shit before that."

  They were both silent, letting the years and memories melt between them, lofty though they were, tiring though they were. All of it rolled in the backs of their minds, zeroing in on the things they very seldom mentioned, the things that they had found were better to bury for their own sakes. Just so as not to show Daniel, maybe. Maybe for self-preservation. But the church in Atlanta and the hymns and the religious ecstasy still bashed the backs of their skulls like rocks and cement.

  "I gotta get some work done." Sarah finally said after a moment. It was then that Gideon slipped his fingers between hers, and she stared at him, quirking a brow.

  "One more dance?"

  The only noise was the hum of the refrigerator and the hiss of the air conditioner, occasional creaks in the wood of the old house. But after a second, Sarah smiled lightly, and pulled both his hands into hers. They were slow at first, steps careful and calculative, but she found her hands resting on his upper arms and her eyes half-closed, the two feeling the world melt away. It all turned to fluid and dripped into their past, the edges of the wedding reception and the dance and the music flowing into it. Her dress had been white and adorned with pearls and mermaid tail cut. She had worn her hair up, as she hadn't cut it short yet. She'd painted her nails and her makeup had been done and she had felt perfect. Gideon had been brighter-eyed then, with his deep brown hair combed back and cut neatly, his tall and lean figure feeling ten feet higher and off the ground the moment she had entered the church. They had been married in Iron Chapel Baptist by a pastor who was no longer living, a pastor who had left this life to pursue the next, and in his end had allowed Brother White's work to begin.

  But this was before that. They had been happy, good reputations, good families - despite the long line of horse and cattle thieves on Gideon's side - and well-wishes from friends who they barely spoke with now. Monty had been one of Gideon's closest, his mentor, his friend and the one who had suggested becoming a paralegal to him in the first place. It wasn't something he would have ever decided himself, but Monty had seen potential in those eyes and a smart spark behind them, one that was now drowned out and no longer fed, but yet one that had, long ago, been a bonfire.

  They were here in their kitchen, arms embracing arms, humming the same tune they remembered, reminiscing in the wake of a moment turned sour. They had determination, that was for sure, determination to make themselves better. Or at the very least to keep the past in their hands, the past that nipped their heels now one that they embraced, if only for a moment. A moment that was just enough for them.

  Outside, as the kids played their games and anticipated their Sophomore year, Daniel led them and orchestrated the rules. He was good at that, planning and distributing roles to everyone. He was good at a lot of things, really, and in the future his skills would come in handy. He'd be great some day, that was for sure, but greatness sometimes came with a hefty price.


	89. Religion

  August was winding down to a close, the ends of the world meeting each other in morphing shapes, summer cut off and giving way to the last week of freedom before Sophomore year. Daniel had been pacing his room, digging deep trenches into the carpet with his shoes. He could talk to Patrick about the things on his mind, if he wanted, but he could also avoid it completely and instead choose to absorb himself in his writing and other thoughts that held the ability to consume him completely. He had resolved to tell the other. He had no choice now, in it for the long haul. He made this decision and by his decision he would stand or so he would consider himself a traitor to every effort he'd ever made.

  He grabbed his notebook. There was something else written within it's pages now, a lengthy note detailing everything he'd felt over the recent years, from the Valentine's card that he never gave him to the mere marveling at him from a distance. And then another page, another draft, narrowing it all down to only the most pertinent information. Daniel didn't want to come off as weird, he deeply dreaded seeming disgusting and abhorrent in his feelings, he didn't want to justify his mother's spat vitriol from that night so long ago. He had that moment running on a loop through his mind. His mother had called him something he didn't even know was a word, speaking to his father. She had had white knuckles gripping the steering wheel and red cheeks and red lips and red anger red words red spilt red spat out-

  He swallowed tightly and took a shuddering breath. His blood was cold in his veins, wringing his hands. He had built up such fear in himself without any indication as to how Patrick would respond. He knew there were a few solutions. One was to not tell him- no. Not an option now. One was to ask him what he thought on the same sex marriage ruling in California, but would that be too obvious? Too suspicious? He, himself hadn't heard of it until a month or two after it happened, and only caught a glimpse of information about it in the newspaper until he looked it up himself. His dreams were spilling out in his mind on replay, every dream he'd had of he and Patrick running off together, being together, alone and in love and perfectly happy. He drew in another shaking breath and made his way downstairs. There was plenty of time to think about this later, there would be hours he could spend thinking about it on his own. He'd already spent most of his life thinking on it on his own.

  It was time he at least do something about it.

  He moved through the front door. It was the first threshold to pass. The first portal in his mind. He made his way down the street, through the neighborhood, each lamp that had not turned on marking his invisible path. The sun was scorching but he made no note of it as he walked quietly up the steps. The porch felt like a hollow grave ready to swallow him whole. He knocked on the front door. He hadn't knocked on the door in a while.

  "Hey, Daniel."

  White-blond hair greeted him, green fading into depths of brown for eyes. Abraham White, casual as ever in a short-sleeved button down, hair combed neat even on days he wasn't planning on going anywhere.

  "Hey, could I come in?" Daniel asked, glancing around. Abraham gestured for him to enter, before shutting the door behind the other boy. Abraham must have worked something out with his parents, because neither said anything when they caught a glimpse of Daniel and heard his voice, tight-lipped as ever, Abraham's mother lounging in the living room with her magazines. She was the preacher's wife with nothing to worry about in the world but raising her son and being a good wife, having come from an already well-beloved family. Marrying into the White family had been strategic, it seemed, as Cooper came from a long line of lawyers, soldiers, businessmen, and other preachers. Abraham was to be the next in line to take up that title. His father's pride and joy.

  Daniel and Abraham drifted up the stairs, the preacher's son's careless demeanor in direct contrast to Daniel's own careful one. The door was shut and Daniel immediately migrated over to the bed, white and blue quilts in varying patterns laid out neatly, quilted pillow covers matching, everything in a cool color palette except the wooden frames of furniture. Daniel sat there at the edge, window casting sun on the floor. Abraham moved slow, his feet barely touching the ground as he sat with his friend, sensing his anxiety, ghosting a hand over Daniel's back and letting it finally come to rest between his shoulder blades.

  "Are you alright?"

  Daniel shook his head.

  "Do you want to talk about it?"

  Daniel nodded. He sucked in a breath and held it captive in his mouth for a moment, before releasing it with a dramatic drooping of his shoulders. "It's not my dad this time," he said with a chuckle, and relief brushed Abraham's features. "It's just, uh... Okay, have you ever- have you ever loved someone? Or- y'know. Had feelings for someone? And not been able to tell them? Or... Maybe just not knowing _how_ to tell them?"

  Abraham paused, listening to Daniel's predicament. With a slow nod, he watched the other carefully. "Yeah." He smiled. It was meek and tender, reflecting the nature of the boy himself. "Yeah, actually, I have."

  "Then you know how hard it is to just... Tell them."

  "Absolutely. Heck, I uh- I didn't think I could ever tell them." Abraham rubbed the back of his neck. "But when I did, it was... Amazing. Relief. _Gosh,_ I was so relieved." He rose and dropped his shoulders with his speech, and then turned his attention back to Daniel, furrowing his brow. "Why? You have someone in mind?"

  Daniel wanted to tell him. Abraham was the closest thing he had to an advisor, someone he trusted wholly and deeply. Sure, he trusted Rachel the same, but she was more brash action. Abraham was quiet and considered everything with care and precision, and right now, that was what Daniel needed. He nodded and then shut his eyes tight, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, sort of. I'm just scared."

  "That's normal," Abraham hummed, "everyone is scared to discuss their feelings, right? Just... Pretend that I'm that person for a moment. I mean- if you want. If you want to practice. And just... Tell it all to me." He quickly placed a smile on his lips, giving Daniel a look of calm compassion, one that spoke to Daniel, one that made him believe this was not going to destroy the world. He thought for a moment, shutting his eyes tightly to gather the words up.

  "Um, okay," Daniel began, looking at Abraham. "I uh- no, shit- I can't-" He laughed, embarrassment coating his cheeks in a flush, a hand pressing over his lips. Abraham laughed as well, sliding one of Daniel's hands into his own.

  "No, no, seriously! Just... Close your eyes, okay? Pretend I'm your crush, close your eyes, and tell me."

  "Alright, golly, uh- here goes," Daniel chuckled, his laughter teetering out of his mouth, shifting his posture. He held tighter to Abraham's hands, closing his eyes and clearing his throat. "Uh... So, we've known each other for a while now. I mean- that's obvious," he began, "and I wanted to say... Fuck, I can't do this-"

  "You're doing great, just keep going, okay? Say what's on your mind."

  "...Alright. Uh. We've been friends for a long time. And you mean a lot to me, and I know it sounds really stupid, but you mean more to me than most people. And uh, I don't..." Daniel inhaled deeply, letting every ounce of air he brought to his lungs fill his veins, letting his mind find the words he needed. "...I don't know how else to say it. Ever since I was able to process what I feel I've been terrified to talk about it. For a lot of reasons. So to put it in really simple terms, I like you. Not friend-like, either. And I know it's weird, I probably shouldn't even talk about it, but you mean the world to me, and I wouldn't want to live without you. Not for a second. So, uh, if you wanna take some time to think about it, please do, but just get back to me."

  There was a long period where neither said anything, Abraham sat there, gripping Daniel's hands, Daniel gripping his, and for a while the words could have even been for Abraham. Daniel liked him enough but not enough at the same time. Not enough to love him. Not enough like Patrick. He waited. Abraham waited.

  "Is that it?" Abraham asked after a moment. Daniel waited a bit longer.

  "Yeah."

  "Alright." Abraham opened his eyes, giving Daniel a broad smile. "If you want my real criticism, I think you gotta dig deeper. How does this person make you feel?" He quirked his brow. Daniel shrugged.

  "Um... Happy. Really, really happy."

  "Okay! Build on that. They make you happy, why?"

  "They're... Funny. And smart. Really, really smart. And clever. And... They make me laugh. Wait, that's the same as funny, isn't it?" Daniel hooked his index finger over his chin, glancing off to the side. Abraham shrugged, and before either could really speak, he brushed Daniel's hand with his own, grabbing his attention.

  "I think you need to think a bit more about it, but overall? That was gorgeous. I'm sure anyone would be lucky to have you." He gave Daniel a soft and warm smile, the sort of warmth that Daniel found reminded him of home, not his physical home but the sense of being home. The comfort. He nodded.

  "Thanks. You're... You're really helpful, Abraham."

  "I'm glad! So, do you wanna go do anything today? We've only got a week before school starts."

  "Um... Are your parents okay with me being here?" Daniel asked. Abraham shrugged.

  "Mom would have said something. I think you're fine, just don't tell them outright you don't believe in God, alright?"

  Daniel paused a moment, thinking. "See-" He breathed, "thats the thing. I don't believe in your God, but... I don't know. Is there anything else out there? Seriously, was that void all there is?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine."

  "You're the preacher's son. You want to be a preacher. So-"

  "Doesn't mean I have all the answers, Danny, I'm just a kid like you. I've still gotta go to seminary, and even then I might decide I don't."

  "...Have you been questioning your faith?" It was the loudest question in one of the softest voices. Abraham White, future pastor, questioning his own beliefs.

  Abraham looked at Daniel, the boy who had posed the question, the boy who had once died. Abraham gave him a shrug.

  "A little. I think that if God loves everyone, why doesn't He love certain groups? Like... Think of it like this; people used God to justify not letting people of different races get married, and then in the 1960s, God wasn't against that anymore. I think that whatever God is, or whoever God is, we've been using Him the wrong way for centuries. Now it's not people of different races, it's people who are gay, or of different religions. You can't be buried with your marriage partner if you're Catholic and they're anything else." He took in a breath, letting Daniel swallow down all of this information. "So I think as a whole, we've screwed up big time, and I want to get to the bottom of it. Who knows. I may convert to something else. I believe in a God or concept of God, really, but like... I don't know, Danny," Abraham's laugh was somber and breathy and low as he raked fingers through his hair, "I'm just a kid, don't take what I've got to say as deeply important."

  It was deeply important, Daniel wanted to say. It was life-changing. Revolutionary. Abraham was a revolution in sheep's clothing, Rachel was a revolution about as discrete as a stampede. The two were in the same boat but in opposite ways, and here Daniel thought Abraham was cheering for the ones who condemned him.

  He didn't know how it happened. He didn't know when, what exact moment it was, but before he knew it, his arms were around Abraham's neck. The two were holding each other, both of them a bit shaken, both of them a bit melancholic. Both holding each other tight, burying faces in each other's shoulders. Because for as casual as Abraham proposed these things, it was life-changing, life-shaking to say it out loud. And because for Daniel he had seen hope in his face. To see Abraham and to hear his voice was to hear the voice of God for Daniel, for once, to feel proof that there was something divine because Abraham was a believer and yet he was a lover of the heretics. He was friend to those his father condemned, and that was the closest thing to religion Daniel had ever felt.

  It would continue to be the closest thing to religion he would ever experience until college, and for Daniel, it was the best substitute for faith. The tender embrace of a friend who was like a patron saint to the outcasts of Cain, their guiding light. 


	90. The Passing of August

  If there was one Holy Spirit Daniel could believe in, it was Abraham. They sat like that for a while, arms around each other, not saying anything, not moving. And then finally, after a couple of moments taking in air, they let go, both of them with composed faces but with things they couldn't quite tell the other. Abraham gave Daniel a timid smile.

  "Hey- uh, good luck, okay? If this person makes you happy, you deserve to be... Well, happy." Abraham gently pat Daniel's shoulder, hand resting there and sliding slow to his arm where it remained. They faced each other in a calm sort of quiet, and Daniel gave Abraham a half-hearted smile.

  "Thanks." He drew in a breath, his shoulders drooping. He shook his head, running fingers through his hair. "I just... Don't know, I guess. It's strange to actually feel nervous about telling someone I might have feelings for them, I guess...?"

  "Makes sense. I mean, feelings make people nervous. And they might not be returned."

  "Yikes, exactly."

  "You'll figure it out." Abraham reassured. He stood, looking at Daniel. "Do you wanna stay for dinner, or...?"

  "Nah, I need to get home. But thanks, you're a good friend."

  "Don't mention it, Danny, you're a good friend, too." 

  The two descended the stairs and parted ways, Daniel now feeling the rush of hot August air on his skin. He swallowed. He had Abraham's advice, and that was all he needed. Even if Abraham had no idea the things weighing on his shoulders, his words had been taken to heart and stowed away. He would be strong in this, and he would articulate just how much Patrick meant to him when the time came. 

* * *

 

  With bruised knees and bright red hair, Rachel welcomed the school year. She had spent the summer trying to piece together a wardrobe she actually liked, and on the first day, she made sure to make an impression. White shirt, black vest, ripped jeans, plaid skirt over it. She wore the biggest grin as she stepped into Cain Silvers High School, her hands on her hips. 

  "What's up?" She looked at Daniel and Patrick, who had been trying to organize their lockers before class. Daniel had asked Patrick's help, a much better organizer than himself. Daniel's gaze scanned Rachel, and he raised one brow high. 

  "Are... What are you wearing?" 

  "My goth gear. Cool, right?"

  "Dorky." Patrick snorted. "I like it. What's with the shoes?" He gestured down, her shoes being black and white and checkered. She folded her arms over her chest. 

  "They're cool." 

  "You look like a Halloween decoration." He teased, "Especially with the pumpkin hair." 

  "Take that back, asshole." Rachel whined, amusement in every ounce of her voice.

  "Pumpkin hair! Pumpkin hair!"

  "I'll beat your ass after school, just you wait." She jabbed her finger into Patrick's chest, before turning to Daniel. "So, what's up with you?"

  "Organizing." He groaned, "I forgot how annoying getting this stuff together could be."

  "Yeah, that's why I don't. I just toss my shit in and grab what I need." Rachel smirked as she leaned her head the direction of her own locker. "Anyways, we're getting our textbooks next week, right? So why bother?" 

  "Because I want my folders all put together."

  "Oh, really? Is that why Patrick is helping you?"

  Patrick snorted. "That, and Danny loves having company. Poor, lonely Danny boy." He ruffled Daniel's hair, the blond rolling his eyes and rifling through his backpack. He pulled out the last folder for his work, setting them on a shelf inside his locker, knowing they likely wouldn't need them today. He was left with four notebooks, a bag of pencils and pens, and his lunch. It was a simple array of items, really, except among the notebooks was his writing journal, and contained within were the various drafts of letters, all addressed to one boy in particular.

  The very same boy who was now holding the writing journal, Daniel noticed, his tan hands resting with the spine in the crux of his thumb, flipping pages. Daniel's heart lept to his throat, his palms sweating.

  "So, what've you been writing lately?" Patrick's intent was innocent. How could he know! But Daniel's chest was tight with panic as he grabbed the journal, face hot.

  "Nothing important. Still working on Thulu and Zoxos." 

  "Nice!" Rachel piped up. She waited a moment, watching Daniel's face, his hands trembling as he slid the notebook back into his backpack. She furrowed her brow. "You okay? You look shaky."

  "I'm fine- just uh, too much coffee at breakfast." He never drank coffee. But neither of them were aware of that, both seemingly shrugging it off and Rachel dragging Patrick along to help arrange her locker (for the first time in Rachel's life), before the bell could ring. He was good at organization. Keeping appointments. Making dates work out any way he could sway them. Even at fifteen he was well-acquainted with calendars and keeping everything on time. 

  Daniel swallowed shaking air and slipped his fingers through the notebooks, ensuring they were all there before zipping up his backpack, sliding it up his arm to hang from his shoulder and meandering idly to his first class. He hated this. The dance of ensuring he fit in while knowing he stood out to everyone who knew him, who knew what he had said when he came back, shattering everything they held tight. Everything that they knew. He watched the faces of the people he went to church with when he passed by and they gave him the look that told him they knew and they were unable to accept. He usually avoided their gazes. It made him feel sick to be seen the way they saw him, the abhorrence that was in their eyes. 

  But most of all he didn't want to upset Patrick. He didn't need to know things the way he'd seen them. Even though he had told him, even though Patrick was well aware, it was still a terrible lump in his throat when he remembered that there was no turning back from that confession nor from the one on the horizon. 

  He arrived in his first class and sat down and said nothing.   
  


* * *

 

  Lunch was the same it had always been, everyone finding their friends and tables and sitting with each other. Johnny and Jason were the first to slide into place, chatting about their assignments and what they were going to do. Patrick and Abraham arrived, and then finally Daniel and Rachel, all seated at a round table with their stories of their first day thus far bursting out their mouths, talking, speaking over each other and under each other, the highways and avenues of their recollections connecting at points and then departing. After a while, Abraham cleared his throat, and they all looked to him. 

  "I won't ask any of you to pray with me, but I've seen so much growth in all of us, if you guys want to, that'd be-"

  "Dude, let's do it." Rachel smirked. "We prayed at the beginning and end of last year, let's just make it our official high school tradition." 

  Abraham gave her an amazed look, eyes wide for a moment before he nodded. "Okay. Uh, join hands, everyone?" 

  His friends all did as told, bowing their heads, closing their eyes. Every one of them had different perspectives on the world, but they all respected Abraham as the spiritual advisor of their group even if they never told him. He took a second to gather his thoughts before the prayer stumbled out of him, one for peace and knowledge and growth this year, for less homework and more time together, and for all of them to remain close. A few scattered amens and the prayer was over, digging into their lunches and spending the rest of the time joking with each other before leaving for their classes, some following similar pathways and some on their own, but either way they were continuing on through their day.  
  


* * *

 

  "Alright, class, we're going to start reading _'To Kill a Mockingbird'_ next week." Daniel's English teacher spoke. She was a tall and frail older woman with a tight mouth and tight skin on her skull and short, bobbed hair. Rachel and Patrick sat in a formation around him, Daniel in front, Rachel to one side and back one row, Patrick just opposite her. They had chosen these seats deliberately, the formation perfect for chatting with each other when they were busy or bored, and the class perfect for this, as it was always covered in the noise of paper and pencils and books and other conversation. Rachel pulled her knees up into her desk, the plaid skirt draped over her black torn jeans, her eyes twinkling.

  "Danny," she leaned and tapped him with her eraser, whispering, "did you read it yet?"

  "No?"

  "I did. It's good."

  "I'll take your word for it," he chuckled as he turned his attention back to the teacher, who was continuing on about the material, passing out rubrics for their work and prompts for the essays which they were to write about the material. She passed out a reading guide as well, and Daniel took them all into his hands, folding his neatly and placing them in his notebook. 

  "We should study it together, you and Patrick and me." Rachel suggested quietly. 

  "Sure, why not? Sounds like a good time." Patrick looked at her and gave her a grin. Daniel nodded.

  "Alright." 

  "Cool! Let me know when you guys wanna meet to talk about it." She said, before turning her attention back to the teacher, who was now giving a synopsis of the book and background history, her voice carrying around the room in sharp rings of sound, tapping the walls with it's prominence. 

  Even with the woman teaching them, even with her voice rattling the air, Daniel couldn't shake the feeling of Patrick's eyes on the back of his skull. Watching him. Daniel swallowed. He wanted to talk to him now, now, get it done but this wasn't a good time, it never was a good time. He shook his thoughts from his head and gently tapped the ends of the paper on the desk, straightening out. He would put them in a folder in his locker and leave them be. He had other things to think about than this book.

* * *

 

  
  His mother was waiting in their car, watching her son walk slowly to the vehicle, wrench open the door and slide in, his backpack removed and tossed in the back seat. She gave him her usual hard smile, soft eyes, watching her spitting image as he buckled up. 

  "How was the first day?" She asked, her eyes returning to the carpool lane and slowly driving away from the school, patient with everything around her.

  "It was alright. Rachel and Patrick and I all have English together."

  "Oh really?"

  "We're gonna be reading _'To Kill a Mockingbird'_ together, at Rachel's." 

  "That's nice. Anything else?"

  Daniel thought, and aside from his constant murmuring thoughts on the boy of his dreams, he shook his head. "No." 

  "Mmkay."

  There was a long pause between them, Sarah's hair pulled back and held up with a claw-like clip she sometimes used, her eyes vaguely somber. She didn't speak for a while, before she released a shaking breath and raked her fingertips through her hair, falling short of words for a while. 

  "Have you figured out what school you're going to for college?"

  "No. Momma, it's Sophomore year, I don't need to know right now." He chuckled. She wasn't as amused.

  "It's good to have a plan. I recommend the one your father went to. Small school, sure to see a familiar face, wouldn't you like that?"

  "I guess." He shrugged. "I think I'd like to get away from here. The whole..." He trailed off. The whole Lazarus thing. The whole near-death thing. He swallowed. "...You know. I don't want to be remembered for that." 

  "I think being remembered for a miracle is a good thing." She gave a breathy laugh. Ah. So she was still on about that. Daniel didn't say anything else. He didn't think he needed to, she had proven his point, she wasn't listening anyways and that's all he knew.  
  


* * *

 

  They got home fine, and he made his way upstairs. He shut his bedroom door and tossed his backpack aside, opening up the laptop he'd gotten as a birthday gift. He hadn't set it up yet. He had opened it's box and his heart had stopped. His parents had asked if he liked it. He bit his inner lip and told them he loved it, he did. He did. Because now they wouldn't know his research. Sure, he'd still be researching at the library, books being his overall most valuable resource, but... This. This was unprecedented. 

  He waited for it to load, setting it on his desk and sitting in his chair. He logged in, pulse feeling foreign in his veins. He was finally realizing that this was almost freedom for him, almost. He logged into Facebook. Rachel had practically begged him to make one the minute he told her about the gift. She had her account for school, the nice and pleasant but always goofy one, and then her side account where she could be as goth and edgy as she wanted. Daniel always talked to her on the latter.

 _'Hey.'_ He messaged her. He waited, leaning back.

 _'sup!!'_ She responded. He chuckled, typing up a quick reply.

_'So when are we going to start reading at your house?'_

_'when we get the books, maybe that saturday'_

_'Alright, just wanted to check.'_

_'cool! x3'_

  A while passed. Daniel decided to look up more information on the book itself, having blanked out when his teacher was talking about the history. After a bit, the digital ping of the Facebook messenger broke his mindless silence, Rachel having messaged him again. 

_'so danny, do you have a myspace yet?'_

_'A what?'_

_'omg. myspace!! xD it's fun, i'll send you a link in a bit.'_

_'Okay...??'_

  She made good on her word. Her link led to her own MySpace account, decked out in a dark purple-black checkered background, multiple Blingee images, and a small profile about her. Daniel drank all of this information in and decided that he probably wouldn't make a MySpace account. His first impression was that this was where all of the kids like Rachel migrated, and as much as he loved her, he couldn't bring himself to subject himself to multiple versions of her at the same time.

  He logged out of Facebook and picked out his notebook from his backpack, flipping through, taking his time. He had so much to think about, and he didn't want to be distracted. He wanted to make this year a good one, and it all rested on whether or not he finally spoke up about how he felt, and whether or not his feelings were accepted. He'd stop waiting soon. He was done biding his time, and with Abraham's advice, he wrote another draft of a letter to Patrick, at the very least to get his feelings out. Just in case he couldn't tell him face-to-face.


	91. Pile of Red

  As September smoothed out it's rumpled skirt, so too did Daniel smooth out wrinkles in the story he was contriving. It was becoming almost sublime, his deep investment in it. He had begun to wonder more, how could he incorporate his life into the writings? How could he bring himself into each story, breathe himself into the world of space gods and judges and absolution? He sat in his desk in English, a few days from the beginning of their reading. He stared down at his notebook, it's weathered spine beaten by the hours he'd spent prying it open, flying through words, slamming them down into his fiction. Some of them contradicted each other. Some of them had foreshadowed the other's. He had not considered they would. All he considered was that he was doing what he could to understand his own situation, giving himself reprieve from the world of his family and the families of his friends.

  His teacher was passing out sheets of paper. He studied her motions carefully, setting his notebook back into his bag. Even in English class he wasn't able to write his own work yet. He had to ensure it never got taken up. He couldn't risk it. He shifted in his seat, and as the papers were laid out, he stared down at the lines and words printed across them.

  "Since we'll be looking at the topic of injustice," spoke the teacher, "I figured this would be a good exercise. I want everyone to keep their answers to themselves, don't need a fight breaking out, but just to consider things you've lived through."

  Daniel stared down at the paper.

_'Have you ever suffered an injustice? How or why? How did you react?'_

  His English teacher went to his church. She knew what he'd seen and not much beyond that. Rumors spread quickly in a small town, after all. He thought carefully, considering the assignment. He could write about the whole ordeal of Brother White targeting his friends and family in sermons and in interactions one-on-one, or he could just keep himself blocked off about that, quiet down, shut up. He posed his pen carefully. 

  He had suffered an injustice when his parents had told him to pray and beg God to forgive him. He had suffered the injustice of being lied to his entire life. He suffered the injustice of being in love and knowing if he told a soul he would be exiled. He balanced his pen off his finger, and held it there, ink barely spilling to paper.

_'I have not suffered an injustice. The most I can think of is the time I felt like my pastor was targeting a friend in a sermon. That was nothing personal, and resolved quickly.'_

  His statements were brief and he knew he wouldn't get a good grade on it, but he had to restrain himself. He had nothing to write about. It was the story he would tell over and over. He would never have anything to write about would be the story he would know. He hadn't even been through much in his short life, fifteen years of nothingness in a haze drowned in the honeyed visions of sunsets and churches and the voices of the choir. He was a footnote to the town's history, the one kid who became their would-be heretic, their would-be terror. 

  He set his pen aside. He could hear noise behind him, someone writing quickly and with abandon. He turned his body to stare at Rachel, her hand moving in brisk motions over the paper, pencil occasionally erasing a word. He didn't know what she was writing but his blood ran cold in his veins, sticking like ice underneath his skin. If she talked about anything that had been on his mind, about their group and about their situation and the way the world worked for them or rather against, he could feel the bile in his stomach turning. No. No. She wouldn't. She would never do something that would cause them harm, would she?

* * *

 

  
  Class ended. The bell rang loud and clear. Everyone packed up their things and Rachel passed up her paper to the front of her row, slinging her bag over her shoulder. The prompt was one she answered honestly. She didn't know how to lie about this. She felt it boiling in her blood, the sense of justice in her heart she held as opposed to the one other people may know. 

  She walked out of the school and got in the car with her dad, who gave her his typical goofy grin. He was a bright-eyed man who she always looked up to, and it showed when they spoke, laughter ruffling the air like he used to ruffle her curls, but she didn't tell him about the assignment. She got home and set her bag aside and sat at her desktop, typing away in her MySpace chat with her friends, a perfectly fun conversation, but her mind never left what she had been thinking about. Her plan was laid out in her head.

_'Have you ever suffered an injustice? How or why? How did you react?'_

  It was just a prompt to get them thinking but it made everything in her mind stop to see the words. She had closed her eyes, her plaid red vest buttoned tight over her black shirt, the fabric smooth when she folded her arms over her chest to think. She then had pulled her knees up through the desk, resting her notebook against her legs and using it as support. It struck a cord in her, to be sure. The topic itself was one she thought about often, something she reflected on.

 _'When I was a kid,'_ she had written on that paper, _'I was always looked at because of how I acted. I didn't like fitting in. People would be jerks to my face and behind my back. Never had many friends. Guess I was outcasted. That's one injustice.'_ She had a stronger word for the people who had mistreated her. 

  She was called down to dinner and laughed with her parents again, even when Veronica was tired from today's work and Arthur was having to eat a bit quickly so he could finish up some paperwork he'd brought home. They had such a peace in their house, something she loved and knew at least one person who envied it. Nothing was as picturesque as it always seemed. There were moments of conflict that were always resolved, but nevertheless she knew that her friends didn't know that. She didn't talk about it, how sometimes her rebellion did go too far. How sometimes she did pull stunts her family didn't approve of. Tonight was one of those stunts.

_'I have it pretty easy. Both my parents are still together and have good careers and we get along. But I also think things have been weird for me. One of my friends probably won't be able to hang out with me before long just because their parents hate me. And then I can't talk about some things generally but it's not great. Guess I'm just being pathetic and whining.'_

  She had always told herself that. She was whining when she was upset. She was Rachel fucking Willcox, she wasn't allowed to be weepy and timid even in times she was genuinely scared. She had to hold it all back and bite her tongue and swallow the lump in her throat.

  She stood in her bathroom. She had showered, dressed, and dried her hair. She stared at the red curls, tumbling down and brushing against her bare shoulders. She held a plastic bag in one hand, her father's electric razor in the other. She set the bag in the sink, draping it so it was open. 

  She flicked the razor on.

_'I think the biggest injustice I've ever suffered is that I can't be myself. My friends and I are some of the most unique people I've met in this town. We don't care what people think, but we also really really do. We can't express ourselves the way we want to. We've got things we want to do and we can't because this town stifles us. It's so small we're spotted from a mile away and everyone knows our names. We just don't get to be ourselves because of that. Maybe I'll start being myself.'_

  How did she react to the injustice?

  Rachel held one side of her red curls away, over the sink.

_'Maybe I'll start being myself.'_

  The razor did it's work.


	92. Reaction

  Her mother had found her. A red pile in a plastic bag in a white sink. Half of her hair was shorn short. Rachel had been afraid to go too close to the skull, so there was at least two inches remaining.

  Veronica had not been happy to say the least.

  "You were supposed to talk to your dad and I, that was the agreement." Veronica spoke through tight teeth. Though her face was near as red as her daughter's hair, she helped trim the remainder to a length that would suit what the teenager had done. She may be mad, but it wasn't like she could just glue the curls back on. She had decided to help instead, standing there with scissors and gently snipping and trimming and using a razor to help the process.

  "So? It's just hair."

  "It's just _hair,_ but you were supposed to talk to your father and I any time you planned a change. Rachel- this isn't _like_ you." 

  Both of the girls were quiet. Rachel stood there, staring into her reflection in the mirror, her brown eyes gazing at the image of her mother moving around her, combing and trimming and razing. She had cut a decent length off. At the very least, if she couldn't fix it she could help amend it. So Veronica worked quietly now. Both of them looked tired.

* * *

 

  The school was loud as ever, kids pouring in like tidal waves, the September heat brushing against their faces. Patrick and Daniel were talking, Patrick telling him about the play - the date was soon, he said, and then he could finally get some sleep and not have to worry about being exhausted - when they turned and saw Rachel.

  Among the looks of disapproval from a few people, a couple of hushed whispers, Rachel walked in. Her mother's old leather jacket hung over her body. She looked distinctly every bit herself as she ever did, but there was something different in this. The way she held herself was taller, even for a fifteen year old, holding her shoulders high.

  "Wh... What the heck happened-" Daniel breathed,

  "Your _hair_ ," Patrick finished, "holy _shit,_ Rachel."

  "Yeah." She combed her fingers through the curls left on one side of her head, her smirk wide across her mouth. "I got tired of the length."

  "Clearly!" Patrick sputtered, staring at the girl. She looked so different now, hair down to her jawline and no further, the other side cropped. She gave them her usual big smirk and placed her hands on her hips, backpack tight to her spine.

  "Come on, dudes, it's no big deal. Just thought I'd finally start being myself. This town stifles us like hell, after all." She explained, shrugging. She waited a moment, looking Patrick up and down, before cocking her brow. "Your shoelace is untied."

  "What? No it isn't." Patrick rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against a locker. A few moments passed. He could feel the mixture of anxiety and determination. He wasn't about to give in to her obvious bait, but he wasn't about to just risk tripping and falling on his face. He had a nice nose, he'd like to keep it that way. Daniel watched them both silently, and after a moment, Patrick let out an exasperated sigh as he looked down at his shoelaces.

  Which is when Rachel took the chance. She knelt down and pulled one lace easily from the knot, untying them. "Now they are." She teased. Patrick groaned, kneeling down and tying them back, looking up at her through his bangs.

  "Terrible. You're diabolical, you know that?"

  "Yeah, but that's what you get for calling me pumpkin head!" She stuck out her tongue, laughing as Patrick stood up, unable to suppress his own grin. The three parted ways for class, Daniel still thinking on the events of that morning all throughout classes. Rachel got the many looks from people in different times of the day, and he figured that this would be something they would talk about for a while. At lunch, there was an onslaught of questions and mild levels of mortification that she would do something like this out of the blue, but then again, it was Rachel. Shock was her trademark.

* * *

  Friday rolled around and brought with it their first reading session together. Patrick, Daniel, and Rachel all sat in her bedroom floor, opening up the books in various states of use.

  "Alright. So, are we doing character voices?" Rachel asked. Patrick shrugged.

  "Whatever works."

  "I don't really mind." Daniel said as he opened the book, his backpack leaned against the side of her bed, next to where he rested. They started to read, passing passages around through the air, the sun breezing through the noon sky. By the time they'd made it to their stopping point, the sun was coating the trees dark copper. Rachel stood, turning on her ceiling light and pulling the cord for the fan, shutting her window to deny bugs entry. She leaned against the wall next to it, looking at her friends. Patrick looked up at her, and finally spoke.

  "Rachel, I get you're a punk chick and that's cool and all, but... the hair. Really."

  "What about it?" She cocked her brow. 

  "Look, don't get me wrong, it's cool as hell. But here? _Now?_ Couldn't you like, wait until we're all adults to start doing weird shit?"

  "Our teen years are supposed to be the best years," she laughed, "really, Patrick. Besides, that prompt in class got me thinking. You remember the one. Injustice and shit. Got me thinking, how many times have we _really_ ever gotten to be ourselves, huh? Count on your hands. I could probably count on one, but y'know, that's just me."

  "Big whoop." Patrick shrugged his shoulders, resting his elbows on his crossed knees, "Sure, we don't get to express ourselves that much, but you ever stop and think that may be a good thing? Think about how much trouble we could get in if we ever acted on what we think."

  "Think of how much fun we'd have!" Rachel objected. "What if we all could run outside right now, and just be ourselves freely. What could we do? What would we do?"

  "It's be chaos." He frowned.

  " _Exactly._ But a _good_ chaos, so long as we didn't hurt anyone. All we wanna do is live our lives and people aren't letting us do that, and it sucks! I'm sick of it, I wanna do my own thing. I wanna go my own way and no one's letting me, and I'm just-" she threw her arms up in the air, then turned to look out the window, trees blackened in the setting sun, streetlamps gold and blue dots in the distance. She let her arms fall to her sides. "I'm just tired, Patrick. I'm tired of being treated like a kid."

  "We _are_ kids, though!"

  "Yeah, I mean like... I mean like an irresponsible problem child who's going nowhere. You see how people look at me, right? Ever since we were little kids, I mean real small kids, no one's treated me like I'm better than a problem because I refuse to follow whatever everyone else is doing. It sucks. It..." She leaned her back against her wall, her eyes staring out the window, palms rubbing her arms as she folded them over her chest, "...It _hurts,_ actually. Like, I just wanna live my life. I don't know why that's such a big deal." 

  The ceiling fan rotated lazily above them. Patrick got up, sliding his backpack over his arms. 

  "You can do whatever you want. I'm going home, it's dark, and mom wants me to help her out with some chores."

  Rachel waved with her hand, and Daniel waved to Patrick as well. The burgundy-haired boy stepped out, his head filling with thoughts, the way they pooled in the bottom of his brain and soaked into his mind. He had a lot to think about.

  Daniel did, too. He sat there, watching Rachel. She pulled the curtains over her window and sat back down on the floor, this time just across from the blond, inhaling and then throwing her breath out of her lungs, rubbing her forehead.

  "Geez. I'm fucking weird."

  "We're all weird, Rachel." He chuckled. "I uh... that prompt hit me pretty hard, too."

  "It did?" Rachel looked at him, waiting. He paused. Should he tell her? Tell her all about the nights he spent lying awake hoping for some miracle, that somehow some way he could tell Patrick everything, and they could run away together, never to be seen in this town again? 

  He bit his lip. 

  "My parents, remember? And... the whole Lazarus thing, you know."

  "Oh. Right." Rachel gave a breathy, tiny laugh. "Gosh yeah, almost entirely forgot about that. Does Brother White still call you that?"

  "Yeah.

  "That sucks."

  "Pfft, you're telling me." He snickered, waiting a moment before speaking again. "So did you cut your hair because you felt like things were bad around here?" 

  It was a simple way of saying it, stating the larger problem at hand. Rachel nodded after a moment. "I cut it because I hate fitting into the mold people set out for me. I'm tired of it and I don't wanna be who they want me to be, I wanna be... myself. Yeah, just... myself." 

  They were both quiet, letting silence sit comfortably between them. After a while, Daniel got up and slipped his book into his backpack, telling her goodbye. He left.

  The walk home was short but crowded in his mind. He knew of all the people he could tell, Rachel was probably the only one who would accept him, but he wasn't ready. He couldn't just tell her with no reason. And what if she liked Patrick? She could sabotage him. Even if she did, she wouldn't, but would she?

  Moths and gnats and flies flew about in the night air, and as he trudged up the hill and the steps to his front door, he tried to hold his mind together. He could just ignore everything that happened. He could ignore his thoughts, too. But he'd done that for years, and soon he would be done ignoring himself, denying himself.

  Soon, a sermon would become his catalyst, and the world would collapse around him.


	93. Invitation

  What he wanted to get done, he would finish. Daniel sat in his bedroom floor, pulling a book out of a pile. He'd snuck into his father's study while the man was out and took with him a couple of books on religion, ones he had kept over the years. Daniel was flipping through, pages skimming his thumb, when he spotted something at the first blank page. The book itself was slim and light enough to hold with one hand, on Evangelism and being an better Evangelist, and had only one note at the start.

_'See you this fall. 05-25-87'_

  The signature beneath was old and smoothed over, rubbed not quite beyond recognition, but the handwriting was too scrawling and too hard to read on it's own for Daniel. Like someone had tried erasing it. He set it aside and pulled out another book, keeping that faded writing in his head. A few moments in the dead silence before a knock at his door jolted him from his thoughts. Speak of the devil, he thought, the heavy-handed knock the biggest indicator. 

  "Come in!" He called out from his spot in his room, pulling a blanket over his books so as to conceal his crime. His father opened the door, leaning in. 

  "Brother White is on the phone. Call's for you." 

  Daniel's blood ran cold, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. "Okay." What the hell? What could Brother White want with him? He rose up and walked to the living room, pulling the phone to his ear. He waited a moment, taking measures to calm his breathing, keep his voice from trembling. "Uh- hello, Brother White."

  "Daniel, good to hear from you. How're you doin', son?" 

  "I'm well. Yourself?"

  "I'm good. Abraham wanted to know if you'd like to come over for dinner on Sunday, spend the evenin' here instead'a with your folks. That okay?" 

  "Um-" Daniel shot Gideon a nervous glance. The kind of glance one gives when they want to be rescued out of a situation, but Gideon only responded with a mute quirk of the brow and a shrug. Fuck. "Alright. Should I just come home from church with you?" 

  "Yes, that'd be swell. Alright, go have a good Saturday, see you at church." 

  "See you." 

  Daniel hung up, his hands clammy. Brother White gave him more anxiety than he ever expected the man to, the sort of trembling nerves that sought to wring him out like a towel, squeeze all the doubt from him. Brother White had done nothing since Daniel was twelve to make himself seem a saint. He had been heavy-handed condemner of his sin, damnation the man. Daniel was half a breath from calling the man Jim Jones sometimes, when his sermons wormed their way into his ears and latched onto his brain and sucked all the life and infected with their horror ages old, hellfire and brimstone and the only way to heaven was through Jesus and the only way to Jesus was through him. 

  He looked at his father, who didn't seem surprised. "What was that about?"

  "Abraham wants to have me over for dinner Sunday."

  "Ah."

  Daniel took a moment, gauging the situation, before making his way back towards the stairs. 

  "Oh, Daniel? Y'don't have to take my books. Just ask, I'll give'em to you." 

  Shit. Even mostly tipsy, Gideon was aware of the small blank spots in his bookshelves. The books Daniel had plucked delicately with his fingers, pulled to his palm with a tug and made his wells of information. He had so much to learn, too much, too many things on his mind. He swallowed.

  "Yes sir."

  He made his way up to his room and pulled the blanket from the pile, sitting there, parting pages and giving himself room to breathe. Sunday, he would be in the house of Brother White, the man who condemned him and called him blessed Lazarus all at once. In the same house as his wife. In the same house as Daniel's friend and Brother White's son, the bright-eyed Abraham. Sunday was only a breath's reach away, but he wanted to choke it so it could never meet him. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. What would Brother White ever want with him? He went back downstairs. Drown out the anxiety with television. He could easily do so. 

  Or, he would have done so, if Rachel hadn't knocked on the door. He'd opened it and saw the red-haired girl with her wide smile, and he stepped out of her way. She bounded inside, her half-chopped hair still a shocking sight.

  "Hey, Danny," she said once away from the heat of the afternoon sun, raking her fingers through her remaining curls, "you busy?"

  "Uh, no, what's up?"

  He caught the sight of his mother's face in the hall, her brows arching and lips drawn in a thin, disapproving line. But she said nothing and walked on her way to another part of the house, her expression more than enough to tell what she was thinking. Daniel's face flushed, but he tried to cover it up by walking ahead of Rachel, the two teenagers finding seats in Daniel's floor. 

  "So! I was doing some thinking," Rachel clapped her hands together, "and I wanted to know what you thought."

  "Alright?"

  "Since Patrick's play is soon, why don't you and me and everyone else host a little party? Like a congratulations on his first lead role! I could get out the Kool-Aid - grape of course - and we could watch a recording of his play? Since the director was planning on filming it and all that. Just get the tape and watch it with him." 

  Daniel chuckled. Gosh, she still loved grape flavored everything. He nodded. "If we do this, would it be the day of or the day after his play?" 

  "Hm, I'm thinking the same day, later that night or something. We can all get together at his house or my house and just hang out and watch a recording. Oh! I could get my dad to set up his own recording shit and get good footage!" 

  "You'd need the directors permission, right?"

  "Yeah, I'll get it though, don't worry." She waved her hand, giving him a broad grin. "So, what'cha up to?" 

  Daniel leaned his head back, discontent marking his features. "Brother White invited me over to dinner." 

  "Ew." She scrunched up her nose. "Why? Like, what the hell does he want-"

  "Abraham. Technically, Abraham invited me, but... Well, y'know. His father called."

  "Gross, good luck with that." She sucked air through her teeth, her nervous grin matching her sideways glance. "Tomorrow?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, if the ol' bastard gives ya trouble, you know where to find me." 

  "How tall are you?" Daniel cocked his brow. Rachel thought for a second.

  "Five-foot-four? I think? I don't know, last time I went to the doctor that's what they told me."

  Daniel folded his arms over his chest. "And how tall is Brother White?"

  "...Six foot something?"

  "Yeah."

  "Right." Rachel smashed her fist into her open palm, twisting up her mouth, thinking for a moment. "Geez. Well, we know where good ol' Abey gets it from."

  "If that ain't the truth." Daniel chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. "I don't know what I'm going to talk about when I'm there. They don't exactly like half the things I've got to say." 

  "Me neither. I think Brother White would be happy to perform an exorcism on me in front of the church. I'm apparently a devil child or some shit according to him."

  "You're serious?" 

  "Oh yeah." 

  "Gosh." Daniel pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead. They were quiet a while before swiftly changing the subject, the two talking about their school work and their reading. They were going to get together next week and read the fifth chapter of To Kill a Mockingbird, hopefully knocking out a good bit of the book before the rest of the class so they could be ahead of the other students, even if only mildly. Just to get it done. Have more time to themselves, to experience the world they inhabited. Rachel made a joke here and there about how the book sounded like it'd fit their town, and they laughed, resting comfortably in Daniel's room. Rachel looked at the pile of books at the foot of Daniel's bed and arched her brow, another grin spreading over her lips. 

  "Been studying up for something?" She asked.

  "Just reading. Dad has some interesting books on Evangelism."

  Rachel gave him a look like he'd suddenly grown another head, blinking. "Evangelism? When did you get into that?" 

  "Just... I don't know. Since Abraham said some stuff to me. And the whole dying thing." He shrugged. "Just mainly curiosity, I guess. See what other people think. And since Southern Baptists are usually Evangelicals, I just... I guess it was just interesting."

  "I mean, that's your prerogative, but Evangelicals are usually assholes, I've learned. Maybe not all the time, but... Yeah. They think kids like me have a VIP ticket to hell. Same with kids like you, who just don't believe." She gestured to him vaguely with a wave of her palm. He ran his fingers through his hair, giving a pause. 

  "Yeah. But it's kind of fascinating. Maybe just the strict way of thinking."

  "I get you, it's weird so you're into it? I can dig that." She joked, pulling a couple of books from the pile. She flipped through the first four, just skimming the contents, before she stopped at one. She stared down at the page. Daniel watched her as she screwed up her face, before she slowly set the book into her lap. 

  "Daniel?" She didn't have to say anything else, just wave him over. He crawled up to her side, sitting as she stared down at the note left on the first blank page of the book, something about saltshakers, something about Evangelism. It was mildly battered and had clearly been read many times and shoved into a schoolbag several times, judging by the marks of being pressed under other books or miscellaneous items. She leaned the book to show him the note. "Have you seen this?"

  "Yeah, earlier. What about it?"

  "I know that handwriting." 

  He waited a beat, before staring down at it, leaning his head closer. He was growing more confused by the moment, the handwriting barely legible to him, the signature especially vague, but Rachel had somehow made out the shapes. A lump formed in his throat. His parents had graduated in 1987. They had left the town for other pursuits. Atlanta. Church. The CD. The video of his mother and father and Veronica and other people he didn't recognize, flashing behind his eyes. 

  "This book is from the eighties, Rachel. How do you...?" 

  "Because I've seen it, or at least, y'know, the signature." 

  "Yeah? What... Where have you seen it?" Daniel asked, nerves writhing in his stomach. Rachel looked at him, confusion etched in her features.

  "Danny, that's Brother White's handwriting."


	94. Sunday Dinner

  Rachel pointed out the loops of the letters, vague as they were. Daniel could see it now, the signature he'd seen a couple of times in his life, just vaguely or distantly. _'C. White.'_ Cooper White. Daniel's stomach dropped.

  "Wh... My parents graduated in '87. Why would Brother White say 'see you next fall', if it even was him?" Daniel objected, disbelief in his eyes but somehow he knew Rachel was right. It was a gut feeling, all too familiar. Rachel rubbed her temples. 

  "Fuck, I don't know. Didn't Brother White go to community college? Maybe they went to the same one."

  "Uh..." Daniel rested his hooked finger against his chin, "...I don't know. I mean, I have dinner with Abraham and his parents tomorrow."

  "Ask."

  "I will." 

  They tried to talk about different things, but neither could drag their minds away from the conversation. The handwriting was too familiar, too realistically belonging to their controlling pastor who's sole aim in life was to keep his congregation devoted, a flock of adoring sheep with big dark eyes soaking in every bit of information he gave them. Rachel eventually stood up, leaving just as Daniel's family was about to have dinner. Sarah set out the plates and they said their prayer, poking at their meals for a minute or two before she finally spoke.

  "That Rachel girl's really gone and done it now. Shearin' half her hair off? She looks like a lesbian." she scoffed. Daniel furrowed his brow. Gideon said nothing.

  "What's a lesbian?" Daniel asked, watching his mother carefully. Her demeanor did not change.

  "A lesbian is a girl who goes against God and gets with other girls. It's disgustin'. People can't change God's plan, even if we want to." She spat before taking a bite of dinner, washing it down with lemonade. Her husband didn't speak for a while, just ate silently, watching his family. He cleared his throat after a sip of something that had a fifty-fifty chance of being sweet tea or alcohol. 

  "Well, Daniel's been takin' some of my old books lately." He chuckled, looking between his wife and his son. "The real old ones. Y'got an interest in Evangelism?" He watched his son with his dark eyes having some vague light to them, like a genuine curiosity, but there was something darker beneath it. Daniel shrugged.

  "It's interesting, I guess."

  "Just don't end up like Brother White and we'll be fine." Sarah joked wryly, before she changed the subject to school - a safe one they could all agree on - and kept the peace.

* * *

 

  
  Sunday evening church service. Daniel sat with his parents, dreading the evening to come. He knew he'd be with Abraham, that was the one assurance he had, that the preacher's son (were anyone to disagree) would defend him in some regard. The service came to a close and instead of going with his parents, he waited in the pews for Abraham to come fetch him. The anxiety was building in his chest, moreso the knowing that he had to ask a question he somewhat didn't want to. He took his time figuring out the best way to ask. How could he go about this without sounding like he wanted to go into ministry himself? Or could he just ignore this, the piece of the puzzle that may finally answer some of his questions? 

  He didn't know. He moved like a spectre as Abraham and Brother White led him from the church, Brother White's wife Hannah waiting for them. She was dutiful and warm-eyed, the same eyes as Abraham, her mousy brown hair combed neat and straight. She and Brother White talked about church matters while they drove home, Abraham and Daniel quiet in the back, waiting for something they couldn't describe. Privacy. Time where they could be open and transparent, secrets between them like melting wax off a heated coil. Unable to be spoken. Unable to be named. They kept it to themselves. 

  Daniel and Abraham climbed out of the car when they arrived, Hannah saying dinner would be ready soon. They trudged up the stairs, getting to a place where they could rest, could breathe, no anxiety clouding their minds.

  Abraham plopped down on his bed, looking at Daniel.

  "Sorry if you didn't actually want to come." 

  "What?" Daniel furrowed his brow, "No- Abey, it's fine. I actually have something I need to talk to you about." 

  "Yeah?" 

  "Okay, so-" 

  The door opened, Hannah peaking her head in. "Dinner's ready. Told'ya it'd be soon." She joked with a grin before slipping down the stairs. Abraham and Daniel looked at each other, and deciding that they'd best get this over with, they made their way down.

* * *

 

  
  Prayer was not a quick thing. Brother White had everyone pray, starting with himself, his wife, his son, and finally to Daniel. The pastor prayed for his congregation (even the heretics among them, making Daniel's ears burn), for his family, for their health. Hannah prayed for her husband, for her son, and the church. Abraham prayed for his friends.

  And then it was down to Daniel. He sat there, quiet, eyes darting between expectant faces. Except Abraham. Abraham was quiet, avoiding eye contact. Daniel cleared his throat. 

  "I pray for uh- for... For my friends, too. And that we'll all stay close. And that this year's going to be fine. And... We have nothing to worry about." Gosh. He felt like he was doing all the wrong things, saying everything wrong, words tossed and floundering on the deck of their ark. He took a minute. "Amen." 

  They all said their amens, and started dinner. Abraham and Daniel talked about school, occasionally having a conversation with Abraham's parents, but mainly focusing on easier subjects, things that were appropriate for the moment. Daniel couldn't stop thinking about the book. The signature. How familiar, how strange, the handwriting felt like a hand slapping him between the shoulder blades. He swallowed a bite and drank down some water and cleared his throat.

  "I've been reading some of my dad's books lately. The ones on religion." He blurted out. Best to get the conversation going. 

  "Oh yeah? Y'thinkin' about becoming a pastor?" Brother White arched his brow, curiosity crowding his features. 

  "I mean, right now I'm just curious. And dad has a bunch of books, so I guess that's a good place to start." He shrugged. Brother White chuckled, shaking his head.

  "Yeah, your daddy did have a bit of an interest a while back." 

  Daniel was quiet for a while, watching him carefully, debating. Should he say anything at all? But then he remembered what Rachel had told him a while back. If he never asked questions, he wouldn't get any answers. He had no choice.

  "Didn't you give him one of the books? I think I saw your signature on one."

  The words fell clumsily from his lips, burning them on their way out. Brother White watched him. He slowly wrapped his fingers around his glass, the condensation coating his hand, taking a sip. The only noise Daniel heard was the clinking of ice in the water before Brother White cleared his throat, giving Daniel a smile that was equal parts fire and amusement. 

  "You'd be best off askin' your old man about that. After all, he's the one who never took my advice." 

_"Cooper."_ Hissed Hannah, her eyes narrowed at her husband. Brother White was quiet for a moment, folding his fingers together. 

  "I know, I know. But like I said, that's your daddy's business, best off askin' him. I pray he doesn't dodge your questions." 

  Dodge his questions...? Daniel swallowed the knot in his throat. "What... What advice did he not take?"

  "Ask Gideon. He'll tell you all about it, if he doesn't drink himself silly." 

_"Cooper!"_ Hannah hissed again. "You _know_ we don't talk to guests like that." 

  "He's knows what his father's like, he deals with the man every day."

  "He's a _child,_ Cooper." 

  A long pause. Abraham got up, clearing away dishes carefully. Brother White thanked him. He turned back to Daniel, adjusting his glasses. 

  "I do apologize, though. That was a bit out of line, but there's some things your father needs to own up to. And his own son askin' him? That'd be the best thing for everyone, if you ask me." 

  Daniel wasn't asking his opinion. "About the book..."

  "I gave it to him, yes. I did. Slipped it in his bag at school when he wasn't lookin'. He would'a never let me give him something face-to-face, after all. Just ask what it was for. He'll tell you."

* * *

 

  When Daniel walked home, he had more questions than he'd arrived with. He and Abraham had talked for an hour more, going over their assignments for school, reminiscing about the good old days without homework, bygone times where they had been carefree and sinless. Abraham had apologized for his father's behavior. Daniel had told him it was fine. Reassured him. It was an old grudge that never died, looks like. And then when Daniel got home, he went up to his room. Sat there with the book, his thumb brushing the signature. 

_'See you this fall. 05-25-87. -C. White.'_

  He sat there at the foot of his bed, reading it over, the lump in his throat solidifying, his heart bumping against his ribs, knocking against the notches. And then he thought about what Brother White had said. Talk to Gideon, he'd tell him. Talk to him. Talk to his father.

  Daniel rose up on shaking legs. Weak knees. He swallowed. He was tired of not knowing. 

  He knocked on the door of his father's office, the study, the room that Daniel had taken all the books from in the first place. He heard a voice within call him. He opened the door, stepping inside. His father was seated at his desktop, his low gaze locked on the screen for a moment, flannel shirt tucked into his khakis. He turned to his son, leaning back in his chair, folding his fingers over his stomach.

  "How was dinner?" 

  "It was- it was fine." Daniel stammered out. He shut the door, sitting down in the floor, the nook between two book cases, the corner where he often rested as a child when he'd played in here. He thought about how he was going to word this. How was he going to ask? He thought about it, and the more he thought the more he didn't want to do this. He took a breath, and then bit the bullet. "Dad, one of your books had a signature in it."

  "Oh, well, never knew I got it signed-"

  "It's Brother White's signature."

  There was a long pause between them, Gideon sitting there, trying not to let disbelief into his features. Recognition. Realization. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, pinching it, leaning forward. 

  "One time in high school, he tried to convince me to join him at seminary. I refused. He'd slipped that book into my bag as a last resort." A long, faltering pause. "That's all. Just Cooper being Cooper." 

  Daniel didn't know what to say. Brother White had once tried to convince his father to come to a Divinity School. To learn and study and be a pastor. Why? Just to get into more scuffles, more quarrels, more little petty fights? Just to embarrass him, perhaps? Or prove he was the better Christian? He didn't know. 

  "You sure?" He prodded, arching his brow. Gideon looked as though he were on the verge of cracking his neck, but stopped short of the terrible noise, giving a moment to breathe.

  "I'm sure."  
  


* * *

 

  Daniel went to his room soon after, loading up his laptop. He messaged Rachel, wanting to fill her in.

  'Found out about Brother White's signature. Apparently he'd been trying to convince dad to come to seminary but it didn't work.'

  'WTF... weird. you sure about that?? like absolutely sure?? O.o'

  'Yeah, do you think he's lying though?'

  'i mean. its your dad. no offense but yah. ask more questions maybe'

  'Okay. Thanks, goodnight, see you tomorrow.'

  'see you!'

  He closed his laptop, sliding into bed with his book. Tomorrow he would tell everyone else. Get their opinions, and hope for the best. For now he wanted to dream the day off, falling quickly into sleep from the stress of the day. He had no dreams.


	95. Study

  Plopping down his backpack on Rachel’s bed, Daniel leaned his back against the mattress, propping his elbow on his knee. A battered copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ rested in his opposite palm, Rachel’s own copy set neatly on her dresser. He looked up at her, red hair closely cropped on one side, curls spilling down to her cheekbone on the other. He still wasn't used to it. Rachel stood at her mirror, raking fingers through her hair.   
  
  “Come on, we need to get through this chapter, Rachel."  
  
  “What does it matter? Scout dies at the end, anyways.”  
  
  “She does not,” Daniel laughed, scrunching up his nose.   
  
  “How do you know? Have you read the ending?”  
  
  Daniel paused. Then he frowned, arching his brow.  
  
  “Scout can’t die. She’s our hero character.”  
  
  “Protagonist. And protagonists die, Danny.”  
  
  “Since when?”  
  
  “The Iliad, Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet-”  
  
  “Rachel.” Daniel groaned. Rachel jerked around, shrugging.  
  
  “Just bein’ honest, Danny.”  
  
  Daniel pulled open his copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird,_ the library bar code on the side splitting open as the pages parted, ink reuniting with ink as he thumbed the book. Finally, Rachel sat down with him, pulling her own copy off the dresser and opening it to the fifth chapter.  
  
  The door burst open, shocking them both, and Patrick swept into the room, shutting the door behind himself.  
  
  “Sorry I’m late, dad needed me to help him fix a bike.  
  
  “You’re not late, we literally just got started.” Rachel chuckled.   
  
  “Oh, what part? Is it the part where Scout dies?”  
  
  “Guys!” Daniel spluttered. Rachel and Patrick broke into laughter, voices high and light.  
  
  “We’re just messin’, Danny,” Patrick flipped open his own copy of the book, parting the sea of pages to chapter five. “So, where are we?”  
  


* * *

  
  
  They blazed through chapters five through eight in the next couple of hours, switching reading parts and doing character voices. After lengthy discussion of the book’s plot, Rachel flopped down onto her bedroom floor, spreading her arms out and taking a big breath.  
  
  “Gosh, I’m Scout Finch.”  
  
  “Yeah, can’t argue with that.” Daniel grinned.  
  
  “I am her, she is me,” Rachel spoke in an intentionally monotonous voice. Patrick cackled.  
  
  “You sound like a robot, ‘I am Scout Finch!’” He imitated her, leaning his head and moving his arms in mechanical motions.  
  
  “Well, if you’re Scout, then who am I?” Daniel pointed at himself. Without getting up, Rachel pointed a finger at him.  
  
  “Jem.” She said. Patrick frowned.  
  
  “No fair, I wanna be Jem.”  
  
  “Nah,” Rachel propped herself up on her elbows, “you’re more like Atticus.”  
  
  “That makes him our dad,” Daniel grinned.  
  
  “Guys,” Patrick pouted. Rachel folded her arms over her chest.  
  
  “Wow, I love our dad, Atticus.” She stated flatly.  
  
  “I love our dad, too.” Daniel tried to suppress his grin, but it spilled over into his speech.  
  
  “Y’all! That makes me feel old,” Patrick whined. Both of his friends laughed, which led to his relenting, diving into laughter. They packed up their school bags, and right before departing, Daniel stopped, looking Rachel in the eye.  
  
  “By the way, Scout does not die at the end, thank you.”  
  
  And after they all laughed, Daniel walked home.   
  


* * *

  
  Over dinner with his family, Daniel mused about the day, poking his fork into his meal. 

  "So, did you have fun?" Gideon asked, looking at his son. Daniel shrugged.

  "Yeah, Rachel and I just sat around and talked for a while before Patrick got there." 

  "So it was just you and her?" Gideon arched his brow with a grin. Daniel looked at his father for a moment, his ears burning.

  "Yeah. Then Patrick got there."

  "Damn," Gideon snapped his fingers, "your best friend kept you from your girl." 

  "Gideon," Sarah rolled her eyes, "they're not even together anymore."

  "Yeah, but she's good for him." He replied, taking a long drink from his glass. "Keeps him outta trouble. Makes the trouble herself, really."

  Daniel's ears burned hotter. Yes, Rachel made trouble, but she made righteous trouble, the kind that kept them from feeling like the world around them was not theirs, never was theirs, never destined to be theirs. She made them into champions with her words, with her spirit, her voice rising higher and higher above all of them. Her rebellion, filled with life, it all flowing through her veins like gold. She was the one person he knew that would never falter, never waver in her plans. She was determined and even if she knew she was wrong she would make her wrong into right. He swallowed a bite of his meal and tried to ignore how his parents were now speaking about her. 

  It hurt. But then seeing his parents playful with each other, Gideon giving Sarah's hip a squeeze under the table, seeing them smirk and laugh and grin, maybe the hurt was just a necessary evil. He swallowed his pride.

  He always swallowed his pride.


	96. Bonnie & Clyde

  The play rolled around with a magnificence. Patrick had been preparing for weeks, getting his friends together and reminding them, inviting them to his house to rehearse when he wasn't at actual rehearsals, working hard to ensure this went off without a hitch. He was throwing himself into this play, mind, heart, and soul. He was tossing himself headfirst into the deep end of it, not wanting to miss a single beat, single line, single blocking. He was the dutiful one out of the other actors, working hard to make sure they were all ontop of their work, keeping up with the others. They thought he was a bit over enthusiastic about this play, but it was his first, and he wasn't going to take a single risk.

  "It's tonight," Patrick was beaming at his friends at the lunch table, "I finally get to show you guys what we've been working on."

  "You've shown us! Again, and again, and again, and again-" Rachel teased, before patting his shoulder. "I'm excited to see it though, you look like you're gonna explode if you don't get to perform." 

  "Exactly! I need to, Rachel. I can't stand just rehearsing over and over and not getting to show anything for it." He explained, running fingers through his hair. Daniel watched them, a small grin on his mouth, but it felt forced. He knew what he was going to have to see. Patrick kissing their Bonnie. He would have to watch that, and keep himself down, quiet, unaffected. He swallowed down a bite of his sandwich, keeping his thoughts to himself. It was the best course of action, to remain not only blameless but sinless, clean in their eyes, perfectly fine. He shifted in his seat.

  "So, what time is it?" He asked.

  "What?"

  "The play."

  "Oh!" Patrick laughed. "Starts at seven. You better be there, Danny." He jabbed with a grin, "I've been to all your violin recitals, it's only fair."

  "I'll be there," Daniel rolled his eyes with a grin, "don't you worry about me, just worry about getting ready."   
  


* * *

 

  There was no place Daniel would rather be than with his friends, but tonight, he felt twisted in his guts, nerves chattering like teeth. He entered the theatre with his family, his friends grabbing him and pulling him to where they were sitting in the fourth row - far enough from the stage they got all the detail, close enough they felt every word - and he sat, chatting, waiting, anxiety building. His chest was tight with it, his hands fumbling and shaking with it, his voice feeling strained in his throat.

 _"Welcome to the Cain Silvers High School production..."_ A voice came over a loudspeaker, and the theatre slowly quieted down, chatter dying where it had once flown. Daniel turned to face the stage, the house lights darkening entirely, the world turning to nothing but pitch black and a shaded set and the stage. He squeezed the armrest of the theatre seat.  
  


* * *

 

  The play went off without a hitch. Lines were perfectly arranged, the world must have been in tune, planets aligned, because everything felt right. Daniel tried to not fixate on the inevitable scene but his heart was throbbing in his chest, bursting out as the play came to an end, came to the quintessential scene. Patrick took this girl's hand, the girl who played Bonnie, the girl who Daniel didn't really know. Patrick took her hand. her chin. She folded her fingers on the back of his neck. Daniel sat with his cheeks burning, his throat tight, a sickly pall falling over him. He bit his bottom lip. 

_[BONNIE AND CLYDE KISS]_

  Daniel felt the world fall out from beneath him. It was one thing to know he would never be Patrick's first kiss, it was another to actually see it in action, though he knew logically they must have kissed in rehearsals, and then his mind ran away with it. In rehearsals. After rehearsals. Any chance they got-

  He snapped the throat of these thoughts and tried to ignore them, swallowing down gulps of water. When he left the theatre with his friends, climbing into their parents cars - they were meeting up at Patrick's place in half an hour - he tried to stop balling his fists into the legs of his pants. He strained himself keeping himself calm, like something was stabbing his collar bone. It was all a haze, everything just done in a vague fog as he went home, changed into something more comfortable - having dressed up a bit for the occasion - and then rushing over to Patrick's house.

  He stood on the porch.

  He didn't want to knock.

  "Hey!" Rachel called, bouncing up to him, her grin as wide as a crack in the universe. "So, you ready to watch the tape? I got the DVD, Patrick's mom said she'd set out the snacks for all of us." 

  "Uh-" he cleared his throat, "yeah! I'm ready." 

  "Cool!" She knocked on the door, and when it opened, Patrick lunged for them, wrapping them both in his arms.

  "Holy crap! Holy crap! I did it, I survived, I did it!" He cheered, burying his face first in Rachel's shoulder, then in Daniel's, the other stiff in his arms. 

  "Sure you did, you ever doubt you would?" Rachel punched his arm, walking inside, the others following behind. The counter in the kitchen was laid out with empty plastic cups, a jug full of Kool-Aid, and unopened bags of snacks. Rachel set the DVD in the VCR, stopping the footage so they could wait for the others. 

  They arrived one by one, greeting the Sartoris' family, and eventually all the kids were piled up in Patrick's living room, on the couch and on the floor, with their drinks and paper plates and occasionally throwing popcorn at each other. They hushed down when the video started, but talk started up quickly, with Patrick explaining how they had to cut out some lines, or had to rehearse over some more than others. They had all just seen the play, so it wasn't a matter of engrossing themselves in it, more a matter of letting them all experience it as outsiders. Patrick joked about the scenes, Rachel joining, and soon the entire group was making their own little jokes about the play. Daniel was mostly quiet, watching the film, listening to his friends but not really listening. Fixated. He needed to know the moment that he would have to get up and leave, pretend to go to the bathroom just to get out of this. He took a long drink from his grape Kool-Aid. He needed this to be believable. 

  And then it was.

  He got up, excusing himself right as the end was beginning. "Aw, you're gonna miss the best part!" Rachel called after him, crackling with laughter, before turning back to the television. Daniel left, rushing to the bathroom, just to splash some water on his face. Calm down. He couldn't calm down. Calm down calm down c-

  He rubbed his face with a towel and tried to compose himself. He left, entering the living room and taking his seat. The play was over, Patrick laughing about something, the whole room filling with his golden ringing voice.

  Daniel picked up his cup, sipping down the sugary grape mixture, before Rachel spotted him.

  "Oh hey, now Danny's back, we can do our toast!" she said, picking up her own cup. She cleared her throat, and in her most dramatic impression of a twice-divorced upper-class woman who arranged the charity gala, she spoke. "Tonight, we celebrate the accomplishments of our best friend, Patrick Virgil Sartoris. He's a good kid, and no doubt he'll go far in the theatre arts. He better. I don't wanna be bored when I tell people about him in the future." They all laughed, and she finished off. "To you, Patrick, you big goof. Dream big." 

  They all pushed their cups together, plastic bumping plastic, and took long drinks of Kool-Aid. Setting them aside, they kept talking through the night, having arranged to all stay over. It was a lovely night, and while Daniel was happy for Patrick, there was a bitter side to him. He knew he had to do something, and he knew what he had to do, he just needed the right moment.


	97. Not Alone

  If the world could stop for a minute, that would be fine with Daniel. He had spent so much time with his brain rushing and wailing and slamming itself into walls that he had no time to really sit and rest. He woke up the next morning, and with the rest of them, left Patrick's house. 

  School that next week was fine, just fine, perfectly okay. He ignored how blank his mind felt sometimes. Even when he knew he had thoughts swimming in there, none of them came to light. It was as though he were speeding down a highway with nothing left in his head but a burning. He did his assignments and was dutiful and was fine, but that was all he could say.  
  


* * *

 

  For Abraham, though, his thoughts had turned to ruin. He had a sort of bitterness in him, a sort of bitterness he couldn't explain. He was quiet, a bit more than usual, pretending he was just tired. He was more than tired. His father had expressed that he was in pure opposition to the idea of same-sex marriage, and was supporting pastors trying to get it banned in California. To re-write the progress made that past summer. Abraham said nothing, biting his tongue and keeping to himself. After all, what could he do? He was his father's son, perfect and infallible in those ways. He was untouchable in that he was Brother White's, and that was his identity. He read his Bible almost feverishly, and then the books on various interpretations, searching for something or anything at all, even the smallest hint, that he was not wrong. He was not wrong to be the way he was. He knew he wasn't wrong.

  When the world was against him he fought back. He'd learned to fight from Rachel, after all, he had nothing else. 

  He was throwing himself more into studies than he had ever intended. This wasn't the path he had planned his high school years to go, but it was the way it was, and he was okay with it. He was learning to channel his anxiety into something else, something better, even if it was an unstable force. He wrote about his own findings in margins of his homework after turning it in and getting it back, securing his ideas in his school binders. He was doing his best.

  "Hey, Danny," he said one day, sitting with the other in Daniel's room, "you told me once you wanted to tell someone you like them. Have you gotten to it?"

  Daniel flushed. "Not exactly."

  "Aw, why?" Abraham prodded with a small smirk. "You should, I think anyone would be lucky to have you."

  "It's..." Daniel trailed off, "...It's complicated, Abey."

  Abraham watched him, and after a moment, he nodded. "I get that." It was all he said, but it was enough. He and Daniel talked about other topics. His SciFi writings. How he had invented a republic in space. Abraham told him about his Biblical studies, done all independently just for fun, he told Daniel. No soul-searching, no threatening anxiety that wrapped his long fingers around his throat. None of it. Just that he was interested, and wanted to study before he got to college so he could be ready, be prepared, and have as many answers as he could. Daniel called him a nerd, jokingly, and Abraham said he was one, and that Rachel pointed it out plenty of times. Rachel was the main reason Daniel had even called him that. They laughed.

  It was pleasant, the conversations between the two of them, the kind of conversations that made one feel like they could confide almost everything. The keyword, however, was "almost". Almost everything, not quite, not risking it yet. Abraham wasn't sure, he wasn't sure, he could never be sure if he could trust anyone in this town with his secret which weighed on him like bricks pulling him to the bottom of a river, a sacred baptism in his own blood. 

  But there had been one person. Abraham had told one person, the only person, and they had sworn not to tell. It was their secret, binding them together. Slowly, Abraham was chipping the pieces of terror away, allowing him to one day emerge from his own captivity, and brighten the futures of others by doing so.

* * *

 

  
  He went home with a small smile on his lips. He sat in his room for a while until his mother came and fetched him. Someone at the door for him. He stood up and made his way downstairs. Him. The one he knew. The one who knew it. He opened the door, and smiled at them. 

  The one he loved. The one he'd told. 

  Abraham stared into those bright eyes and knew he was not alone.


	98. Something Else

  A warm afternoon imposed itself before the final breaths of summer, pulling with it one final heat wave. Johnny's shirt stuck to his skin as he swung a baseball bat with ease, a loud crack resounding as the ball flew from his strike, thudding into the glove Rachel wore. She had promised to help him practice to keep himself sharp, and so the two of them stood in his back yard, Rachel throwing the ball back to Johnny.

  "So how do you-" _swing, thud,_ "-think the school year's going?"

  "Pretty good-" _throw, swing, thud,_ "-but it's fuckin' _exhausting,_ " _swing, thud,_ Johnny grinned, "what about yourself, though? How're you holding up with the work?"

  Rachel tossed the ball between her hands, watching with her regular, cocky smirk. "Aside from the whole lack of freedom, weird bullshit that's typical of the American public school system, you mean?" She remarked, sarcasm and all. Johnny threw his head back, a small laugh cracking his throat.

  "Yeah, fuckin- all of that." He tapped the bat on the soft grass, poised and ready. Rachel snorted, tossing the ball. The clack of the ball hitting the bat, the thud of it in her palm again.

  "Pretty good. Patrick, Danny, and myself are reading our stuff together so that's eventful enough." She replied, throwing the ball back to him. They continued on for a while until Rachel threw the ball Johnny only held his bat, letting it slam idly into it, watching it drop. He picked it up, examining the round leather creation before pressing his bat into the earth, resting both hands atop it, ball pocketed.

  "So Rachel," his voice took on a teasing tone, batting his eyes, "you got someone you got your eye on?"

  "Oh, fuck off." Rachel cackled, ripping the glove off her hand and squeezing her fingers, plopping down on the ground next to him. He sat himself down, resting his elbow on his knee, other hand feeling sharp blades of grass between his fingers.

  "Seriously, though. You and Danny both don't ever look at people like people look at y'all. Something still happening with you two?" He wiggled his brow, suggestive with a mischief-soured grin. She rolled her eyes, folding her hands behind her head and stretching out.

  "Nope." She said simply. "Danny and I were just... Better friends, I guess. Like, yeah it kinda sucks, but... You want the truth, honest and all?"

  "Yeah."

  "He was a terrible boyfriend." She joked. "We just didn't work romantically."

  He quirked his brow. "Really?"

  "Yeah. I think he's just... Not into me, but not into other people either? I dunno my dude."

  "He's always been strange, don't beat yourself up about it." Johnny stood up, lending his hand. Rachel took it, sliding the glove back onto her palm, raising up. They were quiet for a moment before she made her way across the yard, posed with the ball in her hand. She tossed it between her palms, sucking in her left cheek, teeth biting it, jaw going side to side. Johnny frowned.

  "Aw. I know that look. What's up?" He tapped his bat into the earth, then posed himself, ready. Rachel tossed the ball. _Swing, clack, thud._

  "I don't know, Johnny." _-swing clack thud-_ "I just don't..." _-swing clack thud-_ "...know. Something's fucking weird about all of this."

  "Maybe you should ask about it." _swing clack thud swing clack thud_ "I mean, can't hurt, right? We're all friends. Been friends since we were born, you know." _swing clack thud swing clack thud-_

  "I know," _swing clack thud-_ "I just..." _swing clack thud_ "...Johnny?"

  "Yeah?"

  "How're you and your brother doing?" _Toss. Swing clack thud._ Johnny fidgeted a bit with the end of his shirt, fingers folding into the fabric.

  "Well, we're uh, we're doing, alright." _Toss. Swing clack thud._ Rachel formed her mouth into a thin line, arching a brow.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "I'm..." Johnny clamped his bottom lip tight in his teeth, moving it between, giving a sidelong gaze. _Swing clack thud swing clack thud swing-_ "...I'm fucking worried about that dude. Like that's the honest truth, swear on my lucky bat, I'm worried for that guy."

  Rachel didn't say anything for a while, letting the ball do the talking for them for a while. It only spoke in staccato, in the simplest ways, but she hoped it was enough of a message in code that he got it. She never pried too much into the Taylor's business. Family was family and no outside interference was good for them. There was, however, a simple strain in that. She was close to both of the Taylor boys. Maybe it could be said she held them in some sort of regard. They had paths in life they wanted to follow. She respected their decisions.

  "Wanna say why?" Rachel finally questioned. Johnny took his time formulating his response, careful with the words he chose. He wasn't one to talk about people if he knew it could be resolved at home. He didn't like gossip, thought it was cheap and boring in most respects. He resigned to the fact that when Rachel was asking the questions, though, he very seldom didn't talk about people. Maybe she brought out the best in him, maybe the worst, he didn't know which and for some reason was satisfied with that.

  "He's a fucking pussy." Johnny finally snapped out, the ball flying from his strike, burning on Rachel's palm. She allowed him to talk. "He doesn't stand for jack shit, let's people just say whatever they want to him and bites his damn tongue- he's a coward, Rachel, doesn't he realize he can stand up to people?" The clack-thuds had become louder, Rachel spending a good portion of the time listening to him also chasing for the ball, keeping up while he let his confession tumble from his lips. She didn't say anything yet, just let the staccato of the baseball and the bat and their arms swinging be the language they spoke.

  "Yeah. He needs to stand for something, sure, but he's the good twin. He doesn't get in trouble."

  "He's the favorite." Johnny rolled his eyes.

  "Oh come on-"

  "It's true. Mom and dad dote on him 'cause he doesn't fuck around."

  "Maybe 'cause he didn't disown the entire church in the middle of a baptism."

  They were both quiet, the ball landing squarely in Rachel's palm. They stared each other down, and for a while Johnny contemplated making her leave, getting her away so he wouldn't think about it anymore, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He just stood there limply and blame-filled, his own shame poured into him like a new vase, flowering with it. He swallowed his tight throat.  
Rachel threw the ball. He hit it away.

  "I get it though." Rachel finally shrugged. "Family playing favorites sucks. All my family dotes on my cousins 'cause they're good little Christian angels."

  Johnny snorted, "And you're like their antichrist, right?"

  "Yup. Complete with devil red hair."

  "Gosh." Johnny shook his head, unable to wipe his wide smirk from his mouth. "You're somethin' else, Willcox."


	99. Complacency

  September was in the middle of itself, cool air finding the small town in breezes. Jason's windows were all open, letting swaying winds slide through. He worked with a flannel tied around his waist, jeans baggy and stained with blue and white. Daniel sat on his bed, watching him with curious eyes. 

  "What're you painting?" 

  "An assignment." Jason scrunched up his nose. "Who knew I'd have so much to do?" He twisted his mouth as he dragged the brush across the canvas. He had multiple pieces due before the end of the semester, and while it wasn't much of a challenge, it was like he couldn't get his brain to generate the ideas. He decided on using colors he preferred, painting whatever came to mind. So he stood there, blue and white and teal and grey in his palette, his fingers nimbly grasping the brush. He dragged streaks of grey across the backdrop, illuminating them with a thin line of white and within it a thin line of teal. He stood there, his radio playing whatever local station he knew he could drown out best of all, just needing the stimuli so he wouldn't get too involved in the painting. Daniel watched him in silence for a while. 

  "Do you even do anything else?" The blond remarked with a small grin. "You're practically a shut-in." 

  Jason squinted at the painting, then rubbed the bridge of his nose, hands resting on his hips. "I know. I just don't wanna go out that much, I guess." 

  "You used to." 

  "I used to do a lot of things, Danny." Jason commented half-heartedly. Daniel didn't say anything for a bit. Jason squeezed his eyes shut again, bitter laugh leaving his mouth. "Wow. That's depressing." He stood back from his painting, then dunked his brush in the glass of murky water, swirling it around on the bottom before wiping it on a stained cloth, moth holes making up part of it. He was unsatisfied. He grabbed his palette knife before the pigments could dry, scraping the colors together, mixing and blending until they became a mild, cool shade of grey. He plucked a thin paintbrush from his set and dragged a sharp line of electric teal through the grey, a starting point, a lightning strike.

  "For the class, you've got to do...?"

  "Twenty pieces of just whatever, I guess. Then I've got to build up my concentration portfolio. Gotta figure out a theme." 

  "How many in that?"

  "Ten."

  "Gosh." Daniel leaned back, supporting himself by the balls of his palms. He watched the other as the sky outside brimmed with shade, a cloud making it's lazy path across the sun, dousing the world in blue-grey tinge. 

  "Danny? You got any inspiration for me?" He asked with a grin, hands resting on his hips. Daniel was quiet for a bit, sitting there, his mind twirling with ideas. He could suggest his own world, the world he'd built up in his notebook, the beings he was creating. He could do that. He could also use the world around them as his inspiration. He didn't know which. 

  "Not really."

  "Damn." Jason drowned his brush in the murky water, drying it off. He sat on a stool nearby, wooden frame creaking with him. "It's like my brain's just turned to mud. I could normally make anything, but right now, it's like I've painted myself out of ideas." 

  A knock at the door and the twisting of the knob, Patrick wandering inside, shutting it quietly behind himself. "Hey, sorry to just burst in," he apologized with an upturn of his mouth, "figured I'd see what you were up to. Oh, hey, Daniel." He came and sat next to the blond, propping his leg up on the mattress, his elbow resting comfortably atop it. 

  "Hey." Daniel nodded, before turning back to Jason. "So, is your life's plan to become some sort of painting hermit or something?" 

  It was a joke, but Jason dragged in a long breath through his teeth, letting it curl up in his lungs. "At this point? I might. I don't have a clue what I'm gonna do when we graduate."

  "Aw, don't be so glum." Patrick chuckled. "You've got ideas, right? Like painter, art restoration...?" 

  Jason scooted his wooden stool up to the canvas, sitting there, his table littered with brushes and his palette resting, drying. "I used to. Sure, I wanna do something creative, but no one wants creatives anymore. Everything's business, money, running this and that way, no one's got half a minute of their time." 

  "You're just having a crisis. You'll figure shit out." Patrick shifted, folding his fingers together, leaning forward. "Sure, maybe not now, but at some point, right?" 

  "At some point." Jason nodded. "I just have this weird feeling. I can't really put it into words, but uh- I have this weird feeling like there's a rift. Not between people but uh- like there's a rift between where I'm gonna be and where I am. It's widening and I've just gotta get the equipment to jump it, you get me?"

  Patrick and Daniel looked at each other, and shook their heads. "No." Patrick said simply.

  "It's like- imagine you've got this wide canyon you've gotta cross to get where you wanna go. And now you gotta build the road yourself."

  "Yeah, okay," he snorted, "that's called life, Jason. It's not a melodrama, it's just us being young."

  "Guess so." Jason shrugged. Daniel looked between them, and for a moment, felt what Jason meant. It was a sort of melancholy, not knowing where the wind would take him, like he was waking up in an unfamiliar place every day. Daniel knew the feeling. Ever since he'd finally come to terms with his current situation, his love and what it meant, he felt it; a rift in his identity, in who he knew he should be, who he was, what he was, what he knew. Everything convoluted and bleeding into him with colors he couldn't place the names of. He was slowly turning the page of his own story, and sitting here with two people he knew well, he felt like they would be part of his story.

  Jason stared at his canvas, bringing up his brush and scratching a detailing of white, peaks of mountains perhaps, teal still striking like a long stripe of light through the middle, up and down, splitting it all. He pursed his mouth, biting his thumb. 

  "Maybe I'll make it an abstract." He mumbled to himself. "Sorry if I'm ignoring you guys, just uh- caught up in this."

  "No biggie." Patrick looked to Daniel, his smile kind as always, golden eyes like the sun. "Hey, this Sunday, can I hang out with you after church? We haven't done that in a while, y'know?" 

  "Uh, sure." Daniel looked at Jason. "Wanna tag along?"

  Jason waved his hand dismissively, "You guys just go do your thing." 

  "We could invite Rachel," Patrick suggested, "but to be honest, when's the last time we hung out together, just us?"

  Daniel thought for a moment, hooked finger against his chin. "I don't know."

  "Exactly." 

* * *

 

  
  They left Jason alone in his room, the boy stretching pigment across a canvas, his fingers nimble and long. Artists' fingers, his grandmother had once told him. The door burst open after a while in the numb silence, Johnny flopping down onto the bed, watching him.

  "We need to talk."

  "Sure, what?" 

  Johnny didn't say anything for a while. He laid there, stretched out on his brother's bed, watching the other as he worked on his painting. Whatever it was, it was an abstraction that made no sense to either artist or observer. Johnny propped himself up on his elbow, watching his twin, and took his time.

  "Mom and dad like you."

  "They like you, too," Jason scoffed, "don't think I'm special just 'cause I'm quiet." 

  "You are, though. You don't see it, do you? They just fuckin- they tolerate me but they adore you. You shouldn't take that shit for granted."

  "What do you want me to do about it?" Jason didn't bother looking at Johnny. He knew the other as well as he knew himself, and that his anger would pass. They'd go for donuts and eat them in the dim light of a desk lamp and joke about this later. It was trivial. 

  Johnny couldn't figure out what to say next. Why bother bringing it up? What was the point? He didn't know if there was one anymore. He just rested there with nothing else on his mouth. 

  "Johnny," Jason raked his fingers through his curls, "you fight. All the time. Maybe not- maybe not physically, but you don't just let things be." 

  "Because the way things are if I 'just let them be' suck." Johnny returned, sitting up, folding his arms over his chest.

  "Sometimes we have to accept it and move on."

  "What? So, you're just gonna accept that our pastor hates our friends? Or that our parents prefer you 'cause you let people toss you around? Or-"

  "I'm not saying that."

  "But you are. You are saying that. Geez, fucking hell, my brother's a pussy." 

  Jason inhaled through his nose. "What I'm saying, Johnathan, is that we're kids. What the hell can we do? We're teenagers. We don't change the world."

  "We could if you'd just get your head out your ass and try. _Johnathan._ Fucking pretentious." He hissed under his breath. Jason rolled his eyes.

  "What's gotten into you?" He folded his arms over his chest, leaning his head. Johnny couldn't reply for a moment, not really knowing himself what had gotten to him. 

  "I don't like being the bad twin." It was all he could figure out to say. "I don't like being the one they look at and wish they had only one kid." 

  "Mom and dad don't wish they only had one kid." 

  "I'm pretty damn sure they do." 

  "That's your issue." 

  They didn't look at each other for a while. Johnny got up and left without another word, and Jason returned to his painting, drowning his own thoughts out by turning the radio up, getting as much noise from it as he could. Just drown it all out. Get his head together. Deep down he knew that Johnny was right, Jason was sort of their favorite because of his tendency towards complacency. He was willing to let people toss him around because he was scared to retaliate, for fear of being compared to Rachel and Johnny. He wasn't happy in his complacency, but he was accustomed to it enough that it didn't bother him. Maybe that was his issue. Maybe that was something he should work on.

  All he focused on was his painting. 

* * *

 

  
  Daniel sat in his room, notebook in his lap. He stared down at all of the drafts of the letter he wanted to write, the words he wanted to say, every inch of it spilling out and every ounce of emotion sloshing around in the letters and the writing and the words that made it all feel real. Patrick would spend Sunday evening with them. He would have Sunday evening alone with him. He would have only a few days to get himself together enough to talk to him about this. Finish a copy that he felt right using to tell him. The truth would out itself, and there was nothing he could do but clumsily observe himself once that night came to fruition.


	100. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homophobia warning.

  Sunday evening church service. Dinner with the family. No matter how much Daniel had previously objected to church, he went, he had to. Sometimes it was worth it; the people there were nice enough when they talked to him and downright pleasant when they didn't. The only thing that made church bearable was his friends. The only thing on his mind was Patrick. The boy he had played with, the boy who had brought him out of his shell every time. The one who made the sun pale.

  They rushed up to Daniel's room after dinner and Patrick plopped down on the bed, pressing his fists into the mattress. He smiled, talking about something that Daniel didn't quite understand. His mind was elsewhere.

  Tonight's sermon had been different. Among the regular fire and brimstone, the pastor had preached a message that made his stomach sour.

_'All homosexuals are going to hell.'_

  The law in California that had been passed this past May was up to be repealed. Brother White, as he always did, spoke his mind on it.

  The words had made his hands clammy and his chest lock up like the creaking door of a house, rusted to the wall. He had listened as the pastor ranted and raved, how all gay people were doomed to burn in hell for eternity. These messages usually never got to him this bad. He'd lived with that sort of message his whole life, dispersed between other Scripture. Yet since his own revelation, things were different. Daniel had been in love with Patrick since their boyhood, and seeing him and hearing these awful words, it was like his blood had been replaced by scalding cold water. His palms were sweaty.

  "Woah, Daniel, you okay?" Patrick asked with a laugh. Daniel turned to the burgundy-haired boy, the other giving him a grin like starshine; silvery beauty and all that he desired. Daniel's heart was both swelling and plummeting to his gut, just from looking at him. His throat closed up, and it was as though he were reduced to ash just by the other's laugh.

  "Yeah, I'm-" He swallowed, "I'm fine."

  A pause.

  "No, actually," Daniel sighed, "I'm _not_ fine, I just-" How could he explain this? How could he tell Patrick about what he'd been feeling for years? How could he ever hope to explain the terrible fear that gripped him every day; one wrong move and he'd be dead? He knew the consequences. In this small town, he could be beaten and kicked out and killed just as easily as a bug and nobody would blink if it meant squashing out the sin. He watched Patrick as the boy stood and moved to him. Daniel's mind said to move back, get away, go away, but his left foot shifted in front of his right and he couldn't stop it. He wanted to leave. He wanted Patrick to leave. But he wanted the two to stay. His mind briefly traveled to the letters, various drafts collapsed in a notebook.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Brother White's sermon, it was..."

  Patrick rolled his eyes. "Gosh, yeah. He was pretty worked up tonight, wasn't he? Ah, well, nothing to worry about." Patrick smirked, then it faltered. It faltered and everything in Daniel said rush over to his desk, retrieve the letters, the drafts, pull one out and hand it over and explain it. Read it out loud. Pretend he was practicing to tell someone else but no one else mattered like this, no one else made his world turn to gold with his presence like this.

  Patrick gave him a curious look. "Unless there _is_ something to worry about? What _about_ his sermon, Danny?"

  And there came the nickname, and it sent flames into Daniel's chest. He was so close. Patrick was _so close_. Daniel looked at his form, clothed in shades of dark blue, his hips wrapped with a navy belt that was looped into navy dress pants and his socks, a shade of navy as well. Everything about him was blue, blue, blue, and everything about Daniel was cream, beige, white. Night and day, day and night, turning in waves over itself in repetitions inside his chest.

  He swallowed.

  "Patrick, I- I need to tell you something, please don't freak out, it's not a big deal but- _please,_ " _Gosh,_ he thought, _begging?_ Begging was what he had resorted to? He didn't realize that his eyes were wet and that his cheeks were burning until Patrick frowned, his lips parted- gosh, those beautiful peach-pink lips, opened in silent question. The words of the sermon were screaming in the back of his mind: _Homosexuality is a sin. All those guilty who do not repent are damned. Those who endorse this lifestyle are aiding the devil._

  Daniel didn't know he was moving forward. He didn't know he was stepping over to Patrick. He felt his hands on the other boy's cheeks and his mind was somewhere in Romania or England or the Pacific Ocean, hovering and waiting to return. Every drafted letter was forgotten.

_All those who are homosexual will burn in hell._

  His lips felt so soft.

_If you are a homosexual, you must repent or be faced with eternal damnation._

  He smelled like the cologne Daniel had bought him for Christmas.

_God will not let you into heaven if you are a homosexual._

  He loved the way his skin felt under his palms, hot and smooth.

_God hates homosexuality, it is an abomination._

  If this love was an abomination, why would he be carrying it so heavily? Why, if God loved all, would He exclude Daniel? Wasn't he made in His image? Why would God hate him for being in love? And if this was love, and if heaven meant throwing this away, did he even want heaven?

  Patrick pulled away, his normally peachy face ashen. Daniel stared. Wide, amber eyes stared back. Daniel thought, hopelessly, that for a moment Patrick was shocked but loved him back, please let him love him back every fiber of his being was screaming ranting raving rampaging- let him love him back, he was begging in his head. Desperation.

  Patrick wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He was shaking and Daniel was trying so hard not to cry, don't lose it now don't do this don't-

  "Danny-" a terror-trembling pause, "I n- I need to- to go."

  Patrick turned on his heel. He left, swiftly rushing down the stairs. Daniel stood. He didn't know if he was real or not and if he was, could he become unreal? Could he disappear forever?

  For now, his heart was a million miles in the ground, buried beneath what his church called a sin.


	101. Aftermath

  His family owned a shotgun. He could do it.

  He kissed Patrick. Patrick, the name that made his lungs feel rattled and weak and red, turning his stomach inside out. The boy he had pined after for so long, the one he had fallen so harshly for. He swallowed his tight throat but it didn't do anything to clear away the lump forming, pressure like a stone resting in his windpipe. He had washed his face and scrubbed his mouth raw with the towel, lips rough and dark. His eyes were still weary and wet. How long had he stood there, watching the place Patrick had been standing as though the boy would return, come back, apologize, make right? How long had his hopeful gaze burned a hole in the floor? 

  Daniel laid awake that night staring at the ceiling, his chest the seat of weight that shoved his heart deeper, deeper into his chest. He couldn't make sense of the situation. All he felt was that he had been stupid, stupid-

  He needed to sleep. As he closed his eyes, he only knew the sensation of Patrick's mouth on his own, cheek under palm, a sort of personal rapture. He had been raptured with the saved and brought to his own personal heaven. But heaven was a shattered illusion in his bed, light from the vague streetlamps outside a strange illuminating orange. He hadn't closed the blinds. Wanted to keep the light coming in as long as possible. Maybe it would wake him up from this nightmare.

  It came to mind Patrick now knew. Patrick could turn his life to ash with one sentence, with one word, with a gesture. He could turn Daniel's entire life to nothing but dust in the hands of their community. His judge, jury, and executioner. Brother White, his town, and Patrick. 

  His face was blood-hot. He had read once or twice or many times over in books that when someone you love rushes out like that, then your heart is torn from your chest. He thought that such a fate would be merciful. His heart was not torn out, it was still in his chest. This dreadful rhythm reminded him that it was alive, beating. And so it was not at all over.   
  


* * *

 

  The fluttering of moths against the window. Against the streetlamp. Daniel laid there. How many hours had passed? He sat up in his bed. Had he even slept? He didn't know. He inhaled. Exhaled. Set one foot on wooden floor, then the other, shuffling his way to the window. The streetlamp's light barely, just barely brushed his windowpane, a weightless orange that ghosted it's edge. He closed his blinds. He didn't know what to do. 

  He made his way downstairs as quiet as he could, every floorboard knowing. The walls whispered with it, what he had done. He could practically hear them, murmuring his secret. Daniel had kissed Patrick. Daniel had kissed a boy. The Hubbard boy kissed the Sartoris' son. He just wanted a glass of water. 

  He stood in the kitchen and thought about not going to school tomorrow, but what would be the point? Everyone would know something was wrong. And if that happened, would Patrick then tell? He didn't know whether he could trust him. He had trusted him for years but now? He didn't know.

  He crawled back into bed, empty glass on his nightstand, his stomach in knots. What else could he do but sleep? So he slept.   
  


* * *

 

  "Woah, Danny, you good?" 

  Rachel's voice was playful as ever, even as she gave him a look of worry. Daniel had spent the whole morning debating whether or not he should go to school. He had been in a half-awake haze, eating breakfast with his family, his mother asking if he'd gotten sick. Allergy season. He didn't really have allergies. She had felt his forehead, asked his father for his opinion. He asked Daniel how he felt. Daniel felt fine, fine, good as ever. So it was settled.

  "Yeah." He mumbled, the pulse of the school burning through his ears. He didn't know how much sleep he'd gotten but it felt like nothing. Rachel frowned at him, and put her hands on her hips.

  "You sure? I mean... You look like shit, dude."

  "I'm sure."

  She pursed her lips, but made no other remarks about it. She just folded her arms over her chest, staring at him. "Alright. Well uh, see you in class." She made her way down the hall without a second remark. Daniel watched her go, the girl he had known so well for so long and had told almost everything to. Almost. He took in a breath and tried to get his head back to normal, but there was no normal after this. He couldn't even feign it, no matter how hard he tried.   
  


* * *

 

  Through class, he avoided Patrick. Through the halls, he avoided Patrick. He was bracing himself for conversation at lunch, but when he got there, the burgundy-haired boy was not at the table. Everyone looked around as Daniel sat in his usual spot, pulling his lunch from his backpack. 

  "Hey, anyone seen Patrick?" Johnny asked. Daniel swallowed a bite of his sandwich.

  "He was in class. Want me to go track him down?" Rachel offered, standing up already, hands on the table. Jason shook his head.

  "He'll get here when he gets here." He spoke easily, his voice nonchalant. Abraham looked around, a small frown on his mouth.

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah." Jason looked to the boy, giving a small smile. "We always find our way to each other. It's the way we're all wired, I think." 

  "Like a fuckin' tidal wave or something!" Rachel bounced the words out with a wide smirk, "Like... Water to the ocean. Rain to the ocean? Uh..."

  Johnny snorted out a laugh, "We get the point. Yeah. We're kinda bound together. The way it's always been, way it'll always be." 

  Daniel didn't say anything. Just ate his lunch and talked as usual.   
  


* * *

 

  He decided to spend time in the library. It had been a while, after all, and he wanted to work on his research. He needed something to get his mind off of recent events, a distraction, a cathartic way to deal with it all. He'd remembered Rachel's comments about Jonestown recently, only when he'd stumbled upon the name when looking into other Christian groups. He had jotted it down in his notebook, and so he sat at a computer in the library, typing it into a database. 

  Headlines immediately burned their way to the top. Massacre. Religious cult. Jim Jones. Cyanide. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. He needed a distraction, and if distraction led him to read on something like this, then it was going to be a long night. He'd told his mother he would be back by dinner. He didn't know if he would. After all, with decades upon decades of archived articles online and not to mention all the books in the library, could he really digest the information here? Now? He wanted to. He wanted to devour it whole and let his reading consume him until there was nothing but a hollow shell filled with the words of journalists and writers and people who had been there, had seen, had done. He just wanted something, anything to keep his mind off of Patrick. 

  He tried to forget the name as he began to read. _The others were already in Guyana..._


	102. Artificial Sun

  The grotesque descriptions twisted knots in his stomach, the article pulsing with the details. Over the course of years, one man's ego had mutated into something else, something unfathomable, something rotting in the jungle heat among nine hundred bodies. Daniel skimmed the details, his throat tight with it. He could feel the writer's mind popping like buttons at each horrible thing, the next worse than the one before it.

  Daniel had to stop reading. He closed the article, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Jim Jones, a name that stuck itself in the notches of his mind. He could feel it invading every crevice. The violent delights that wrought violent, maggot-infested ends. He left the library and hoped his face was not ashen with the things swimming in his thoughts. He wanted to forget what he had read. He wanted to shut it off like a light but he couldn't, he was just a moth banging against it's luminescence, like some sick part of him wanted to know more. Drag himself back to the computer and make himself read the rest even if it made him physically ill. He swallowed the urge.  
  


* * *

 

  "So, Patrick doesn't wanna come study with us anymore." Rachel announced, seated in her bedroom floor, her copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ resting in her lap. Daniel's heart skipped a beat as he looked at her, brow arching.

  "Really? What'd he say?"

  "Mm... Nothing else, really. Just said he didn't feel like studying with us." She shrugged as she shifted, trying to find a comfortable way to rest on the floor. "I don't know why, but y'know, to each their own."

  "Yeah, to each their own." Daniel agreed, sitting with her, criss-crossing his legs. Before they started, he opened his mouth as though to speak, unsure of the words. "Rachel,"

  "Yeah?"

  "Um- you remember that uh- Jonestown thing you mentioned?" He was being vague but not vague enough. Rachel furrowed her brow. 

  "Yeah, what about it?" 

  They were both quiet. Then Rachel blinked a couple of times, a smirk finding her mouth. "Oh dude, you looked it up?" He gave a solemn nod. "Holy shit, what did you think?" She pressed her palms into her carpet as she leaned forward, the book entirely forgotten by her at this point. Daniel didn't say anything for a while. There was a long time where she didn't know if he had heard her somehow, despite his hearing being fine to her knowledge. After all, they had just been speaking at this volume. A few more moments passed by. 

  "It was... Horrible, Rachel. Horrible." He pressed his palm to his face. "Why would someone just- holy crap, why would someone do that?" His voice hinted he was aghast at the concept, breath barely making it into his lungs before being shoved out. Rachel's face fell from a curious grin to something quieter. She sat back. 

  "Yeah." She finally spoke after a lingering silence. "I started reading on it 'cause I found something of mom's about it. But I guess reading it so early made me," she rolled her wrist, hesitating, "I don't know, immune to the gory details? Literally. Either that or I'm just desensitized. Like, look at the news lately. All the shit going on around us and all we can do is keep moving, right?"  
Daniel looked up at her through his fingers, the long digits forming a forest of skin and bone, "But what if that wasn't the case? Why do we have to just accept things the way they are?" 

  "Exactly." Rachel's smile pulled across her mouth again. "We don't! Except we're kids, so no one listens to us. Why do you think so many people hate me? I don't wanna deal with their bullshit, but looks like I'm stuck." She gave a small, chattering laugh, her eyes bright once again. Daniel sat up straighter, hands resting on his knees, tension leaving his form as he released a breathy chuckle. 

  "I guess you're right."

  "I know I'm right." She pat her chest, before pulling her book back into her lap. "Now, we gonna finish this or what?"   
  


* * *

 

  He walked home in the moth buzzed haze, the fluttering creatures slamming against streetlamps, orange light turning them into mild specks of grey. He watched for a moment as he stood on the sidewalk just outside his yard, his eyes fixed on the display. They didn't know their efforts were for nothing, an artificial sun burning a hole in the dark around them. Their efforts to touch it and be consumed by it were futile. He could feel it resonating in himself but knew they would never. And then it reminded him of Jonestown. Jim Jones' followers, the People's Temple, the people who saw their reverend as their sun, as artificial as his benevolence was. It was manufactured to manipulate in the most careful of manners. The people of Jonestown were moths to a streetlamp, slamming against it in hopes of touching it's luminescence. The lump in his throat pressed down on itself. His stomach twisted again, knotting into a sick sensation. He took a deep breath and made his walk up the hill to his porch, barely glancing at the lamp before going inside. 

  He set his backpack down in his room before coming downstairs. His mother was already preparing dinner, her blonde hair pulled back and up in a clip, the long strands loose in some places, brushing her shoulders. She reminded him of a star from the movies that Jason had found fascinating, old films in black and white, the amount of creativity and ingenuity needed in those films to make things work feeling incredible to Jason, who had gone on at length during lunch about it. Daniel sat in the living room, and on this rare occasion, tuned into the news. 

  Rachel was right. It wasn't long until Daniel could feel an anxiety of sorts welling in his mouth. The whole world was churning with chaos, the kind that formed when nothing could be done about it, no one could be redeemed from it. He ate dinner with his family, chatting as they always did, but the back of his mind was a fire stoked with the things he had read and the things he had heard today. Patrick hadn't talked to him in a couple of days. If this went on then Daniel and Patrick would separate like he had wanted them to when they were kids, when Rachel made them talk about it, sort it out. 

  He wished she hadn't gotten involved back then.  
  


* * *

 

  Wednesday church service and he tried to keep his head down. He and Patrick made eye contact in a vague sort of way, before turning and looking at other things. No one noticed. Daniel wanted to drown.   
  


* * *

 

  "So are you saying that Daniel..."

  "Yeah." The burgundy-haired boy nodded. The other pursed his lips, taking a moment, resting his palm over his mouth. They sat in the grove of trees that Patrick had dragged Daniel to long ago on multiple occasions, playing in the shade and the branches. But this was not Daniel next to him. 

  They were both silent for a while. 

  "Well," the other inhaled, "unless he says anything about it, we just need to pretend we don't know. It's just the safest option for- for all of us." 

  "Yeah." 

  They were both quiet, the silver-moon face of the other boy warming as he gazed at Patrick, taking his hand in his own. "Hey, Daniel didn't know. And if he did, maybe we'd all just talk about this." He told the other boy, a softness in his voice like the breeze that settled in the leaves. Patrick chuckled, giving a small nod, leaning his head on the other's shoulder.

  "Right." He agreed, and for a moment they were entirely quiet, having snuck out to discuss this. They didn't say anything until the other kissed the top of Patrick's head, and the boy looked at the other, eyes meeting, and lips meeting for a moment. They had no words, so they let action be their guide, lips soft and barely there just in case anyone were wandering this hour of the night, hearts rampaging in their ribs. 

  "In any case," the other boy said, "you have me, and I have you. And when Daniel- well, if Daniel ever comes out, we can all talk about this. Maybe things will get better." 

  Patrick didn't respond for a minute, his fingers interlacing with the other's. "Maybe they will. No, I know they will. We just need to make it out of this town alive." 

  "We will." 

  "I know." 

  They shared a couple of small kisses, discrete and mild, before they parted ways and went home.


	103. Sand Through a Sieve

  Even if he had to leave Jonestown research behind, that didn't mean his religious studies went neglected. Daniel, even through his own trepidation, felt an itching in his fingertips every time he was in the section of his library devoted to religion and philosophy. His need to tug one gingerly off the shelf, pull it to his palm, silently engross himself in it. There was something in his desire that was beyond what he had known before. Maybe it was the absence of one of his closest friends. The absence of distraction. 

  The word settled in his bones. _Distraction._ Had Patrick been a distraction this whole time? Wool over his eyes? He'd yanked it off violently with a kiss, and now the silver streams of knowledge could come to him guilt-free. Temptation free. 

  He stood there in the middle of all of these books and pulled one carefully to himself. Another. Another. He'd even gone online and put a couple on hold, and they were waiting for him up front when he was ready. He hadn't told his parent about his research. He knew if he did they would smother it out with their own doctrines, and it would be nothing but sand through a sieve for Daniel. He wanted to do this on his own, go this path alone like he was meant to from the start. The start had been only three years ago- _three years?_ It felt much longer than that. 

  He walked home with five books total.   
  


* * *

 

  "Gideon, honey," Sarah Jolene's voice was the same sonorous sound she always used when she was in a good mood, "I haven't seen Daniel since he got home. Can you go check on him?"

  He looked at his wife from down the table. He'd been looking over files in the warm light of their dining room, the windows filtering in the noon sun, soon to turn cold with October's shudder. She was currently looking over the bills, her diligent gaze and attention to detail much better for such matters, Gideon's own scrutiny mulled with the liquid he'd poured into his coffee not too long ago. He watched her through his glasses, marveling only momentarily at her in the light. He nodded, palms pressing onto the table's surface and rising. 

  "Alright. I'll be sure he ain't gettin' into any trouble." He joked, patting his wife's shoulder. She chuckled and rolled her eyes, watching him disappear up the stairs with slow steps.

  As Gideon ascended the stairs, Daniel was shutting the door of his study very quietly, the knob twisted in his fingers. The older man watched his son carefully, the boy's feet moving in almost a shuffle in the hall. He made his way towards Daniel, brow raised.

  "What're you up to, Dannyboy?" He questioned, his son darting down the hall until he came to a pause at hearing his father's voice. A cold shiver rushed down Daniel's spine. He'd been caught, books in his arms.

  "Nothing, dad." The boy squeaked, the words just a half-hearted sound as he went to his room, shutting the door tightly. Gideon watched him, a frown dragging itself across his mouth. He raked his fingers through his hair, figuring out what to do. He could go talk to Daniel directly, or he could investigate, himself.

  As a paralegal, he spent an awful lot of time around attorneys. And attorneys spent time with investigators, and investigating themselves. Therefore, he turned on his heel and made his way to the study, his steps quiet. He knew that Daniel hadn't touched his computer, the desktop tower still cool to the touch, his palm hovering over it for a second. He dragged his gaze to the bookshelf, and after a few moments of examination, noticed four empty spots that had not been his own doing. 

  He took a second, and decided he might as well ask what the hell Daniel was up to. After all, he'd been in a hurry to get back to his room.  
  


* * *

 

  Four taps against Daniel's door, the sound of knuckles on wood, then Gideon's voice asking for entry. Ice filled Daniel's veins as he shut the book and set it aside, clearing his throat and calling his father inside. Gideon lumbered through the door, shutting it behind himself, and sitting down at the edge of Daniel's bed. He watched his son for a moment, fingers folded over each other, before speaking in a low and tired tone.

  "You're studying Theology, I see." he stated absently. Daniel watched him, and didn't know what to do for a while, until he slowly pulled the book back into his lap. He turned in his chair and faced his father, an apprehensive nod the signal Gideon had been looking for. 

  "Yeah, I uh-" he cleared his throat again, "I thought I might as well see what it's all about, I guess." 

  Gideon laughed, but it was a dry laugh, more between a stuttering cough and a loud sigh. He looked at his son and for a moment appeared weary in the silence, like he was biting his tongue. 

  "What've you found out?" He asked, watching as the blond boy opened the book again. He looked at his father, swallowing.

  "Just more stuff on whatever Brother White talks about. Like, that time he talked about Goliath, I decided to do my own reading on it, so..." He trailed off, nerves taking him. Another wry chuckle.

  "Yeah, well, Brother White's sermons ain't the most based in the text sometimes." 

  "What? I mean-" Daniel shook his head rapidly for a moment, "I know. Abraham told me some things he isn't spot on about. But he's still a pastor, he should be more accurate." 

  "He should. Don't mean he is." Gideon rolled his eyes, rubbing his temples, then pinching the bridge of his nose and smoothing his palm down his face. He looked like a man searching for something to say but coming up empty. Daniel decided to take this chance.

  "Why do you even have these books, anyways?" He asked, gesturing to the one's he'd taken, a meager stack on his desk right behind his laptop. Gideon watched for a second, then shrugged.

  "I took an interest. Right around your age, actually. Don't mean it ended up a big deal for me, just somethin' I liked to look into." 

  "So, is that why Brother White was pressuring you into seminary?" Daniel arched his brow. His father nodded.

  "Yeah, the ol' bastard wanted me to go with him. Said we'd finally have some real ammunition for our fights, I guess." 

  Daniel could see there was something else there. He wanted to retrieve the CD and play it back and ask. He wanted to go to Rachel's and get the tape and play it over. He wanted to point to everyone in it and ask about them. He could practically feel his feet moving down the stairs to Rachel's and back again, but he remained seated. He knew it wasn't a good time. Gideon closed up when asked about his books. Daniel swallowed. He was about to speak when his father picked one of them up off his desk, having stepped over when the other was occupied in thought, plucking it up and into his palm.

  "End times, huh? Awful dark stuff for a kid." He joked. He looked at his son, who could only give a shrug, a mirror shrug to his own.

  "Just thought it sounded interesting." 

  "Alright. Well, your momma just wanted me to check up on ya." He set the book down and headed out to the hall, halfway down to the stairs, halfway away from Daniel, before he turned back around. "Dinner's at seven, Danny."   
  


* * *

 

  All through dinner, Daniel poked and prodded his food with his fork. His mother watched him carefully, frowning, red lips painted as always.

  "Daniel, honey, you haven't eaten."

  Daniel didn't have much of an appetite. Between losing Patrick and the conversation with his father, his world felt strange and turned inside out, appetite following. He looked at his mother for a second, shrugging.

  "Just not that hungry. Sorry, momma." 

  "Well, you wouldn't be complainin' if you were still a kid." She jested. "Remember when you'd be in such big trouble, you weren't eatin' dinner?" 

  Daniel nodded. His stomach knotted at the memory. "Yes, momma." He mumbled. She watched him, and her smirk fell. She took another bite of her dinner and a long drink of water.

  "You haven't talked about Patrick in a while. Everything alright there?" 

  "Yes, momma. We just..." He couldn't tell her, he couldn't tell his father, he couldn't tell anyone. It all ran through his head, a myriad of things he could and couldn't say. He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut. "...Actually, no, we had a bit of a disagreement."

  "What about?" She leaned a bit closer from where she sat, watching her son, her spitting image. 

  "Just stuff. We aren't really talking much right now." They weren't talking at all. He couldn't say that. Then something would definitely be up, and his mother would prod deeper. But that statement seemed to satisfy her, and she nodded.

  "Well, if y'all grow up a little and make up, I'm sure you'll be even better friends than before. What was that verse, Gideon?" She turned to her husband, who shot her a look of mild disbelief. He was relatively sober, and not in the same melancholic mood at this moment that he often was. The sort of mood that had him thinking. The sort of mood that had him drinking. 

  "Check me on this if y'all will," he started, "but it's Proverbs something-or-other. _'As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.'_ I think it's twenty-seven somethin'. Hell if I know." He tossed the verse out there and it was evident in his face he wanted to be done with it.

  "There you go then, Daniel," she hummed, nodding slowly, "Proverbs... twenty-seven something. So y'all should sharpen each other instead of breakin' each other. Got it?" 

  "Got it." He uttered, apathy coating his voice as he ate his dinner. He listened to his parents talk, but something kept gnawing at him. His father had dozens of books on Christianity and dozens of Bible verses memorized, his brain clearly having been geared down that track.   
  


* * *

 

  It didn't hit him until he was laying in bed that perhaps there was a reason Brother White held himself like a champion over Daniel's family. Maybe Gideon and Brother White's rivalry hadn't just been limited to their youth. 


	104. Inerrancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Fundamentalist religious viewpoints.

  The Sunday evening sermon was particular, to say the least of it, with the ring of Brother White's voice echoing through the wooden floorboards, the tremor of it raising high to heaven and above. He was preaching on people who believed in secret, the quiet ones, the ones who never let their faith show. The ones who kept to themselves and said nothing of it, just spoke when asked and moved along.  
  
  Brother White believed those people were cowards. They weren't listening to God in their hearts, he claimed. They were not acting on what God wanted of them; to be loud and proud and actively Christian. "You don't get anywhere by foot if you don't move," he started, "you just stay where you are. So is your relationship with God. If you're not active in it, you aren't moving forward. Don't want to get up to those bright pearly gates and God deny you entry, do you? Because He will, if you ain't talkin' about Him, if you ain't knowin' Him, if you ain't listening to Him and letting Him show through your words and your actions."  
  
  Daniel sat there in the pew, letting the words fall loose from him like leaves shuddered off a branch. They meant nothing for him, but there was something bitter in it. The sort of bitterness in knowing he didn't belong in this crowd, he didn't have the same existence, he didn't occupy the same space. He gave nothing to them and they took from him; life, time, and hope, they took it up from him. They took his life and made it a topic of debate. They took his time. They took the hope from his needing bones, the undernourished pleas for his own possible salvation, were he to see something in their teaching he could relate to, something real, something he could feel in his chest.  
  
  He watched Brother White, the pastor wearing a smirk on his mouth, a wolf snaring words in his jaw and showing them. The sermon was a sparrow with a broken neck; sprightly and real and moving until it halted, until Brother White paused for effect.  
  
  "Let me tell you, my brothers and sisters," his voice was barely lower, but his tone was darker, "there are people who decide, even after studying the Lord on their own and with others, that they just don't have it in them to believe. Everyone has it in them to believe, what are you talking about?" He posed it with a chuckle, his rhetoric left unchallenged, "There are people out there who just decide that somehow, the Bible ain't really of God, it's of men. How can the Bible, of all things, of all books, be of men? How can men inspire so many people, their words lasting so long, if at the very least there wasn't original interaction with the Lord? Proverbs 30:5 says it best, _'Every word of God proves true; he is a shield to those who take refuge in him.'_ " He held up his hand as though begging pause, the congregation watching him with longing eyes, "Let that sink in. Every word of God proves true. How great is that? So how can the word of men, time and time again, prove true when it comes to how we should live our lives? It can't! The word of God is what proves true, time and time again, and no matter how much you bend it, you never, ever break it."  
  
  Daniel looked at his father, who was clenching his jaw tight but saying nothing, his countenance firm and solid. His dark eyes watched the form of Brother White moving across the pulpit, his gestures grand as he spoke, ranting on and on. He turned his gaze to his father's fists, balled atop his knees, tight so that his knuckles were painted white through his skin. Something was getting to him. Something that Daniel didn't quite get, and then it came back to him, a flurry of vision. Books with Brother White's name in them, the video, the CD of hymns, the various books on religion-  
  
  Daniel's stomach dropped to the floor and below, cracking through the center of the earth, plummeting like a comet. He took a second. He looked back to the sermon but he couldn't hone in on any words, not anymore, not after this sensation of knowing. Coming to the revelation like a prophet destined for greatness. An Icarus in mid-flight.   
  
  "So you see," Brother White continued onward to a topic Daniel no longer knew he was covering, "those people are cowards. They refuse to let God in and shape their lives, and their lives are shaped by their refusal."   
  
  A hesitance.   
  
  "Let us pray." Brother White announced, and everyone in the congregation bowed their heads.   
  
  The prayer was for all the cowards of the world who had known God and turned their backs on Him. The prayer was for all the people who were secretly in communion with God but not daring to make their relationship official, it seemed. Those who didn't know God but who soon would. Those who had never known God and what awful ends they must have met, burning, hellfire. Daniel's stomach twisted. He felt sick and he wanted to get out, wanted to trample everyone on their way out of the church if it meant he could run into the woods to disappear forever, never be seen again by the pastor who he felt could be targeting him or could not be targeting him, only time would tell, only Brother White would know.   
  
  The sermon came to a close with the congregation singing hymnals. They fell flat from Gideon's mouth, his steely gaze landing firmly on Brother White, and for a second, Daniel swore he saw the pastor wink.  
  
  "Gideon, Sarah," Brother White approached them after sermon, his arms outstretched like he might embrace them both, "Daniel, ain't it wonderful you're still comin' to church?"  
  
  Daniel shrunk in on himself. Brother White gave a hearty laugh, his energy making him feel eleven feet tall to the teenager, who just remained quiet. "Well, anyways, what did y'all think of the sermon? I'd love to get some feedback on it, after all these years."   
  
  Gideon, who had been biting his tongue, released it partially, "I think you've gotten better, definitely, but you ain't doin' anyone any favors by just preachin' to believers. You've gotta go out into the world, or did seminary not do anything for you there?"   
  
  Brother White laughed again, his smirk spreading wider over his face, stretching over teeth, the exposed bone gleaming, "Well, you didn't really learn anything there, either, did you?"  
  
  The world came to an abrupt stop. Daniel furrowed his brow. He looked at his father, who was clenching his jaw again. "What?" The teenager asked, blinking.  
  
  "Your daddy didn't tell you, did he? Shame, I thought he would've, after all these years. Plus, a little birdy told me you've been showin' a bit of interest in religion lately," Brother White wagged his finger in a gesture of ticking off the words, rapid motion, before settling for pressing his fist to his hip, "It's not right to lie to your own children, Gideon. Did you learn nothin'? That's what my sermon was about! Figured it'd help your son know where to stand on this whole topic, since I thought you might've been honest with him, but I suppose that ain't the case."   
  
  "It ain't your place to talk about this, Cooper," Gideon cracked his neck, the lean rapid to the right, a strained smile on his mouth, feigned pleasantness, "after all, what's done in the dark will be brought to the light, did we not learn that, too? So if you think I'm the only one with things to hide-"  
  
  "Yes, yes, you got that," The pastor chuckled, taking some sort of amusement out of this situation, it seemed, "I just think a man who lies to his own family ain't a man to be commended. Always knew you were a coward, can't even admit you dropped out of seminary to your own son."  
  
  It all clicked into place like a pistol shooting to the sky. The tape. The CD. The piece of paper- 'Grace'. The books the avoidance the quotation the-   
  
  Daniel felt like the world was ripped out from under him.  
  
  Brother White turned his gaze to Daniel, fire behind those dark blue eyes, "Your father was a seminary student right outta high school. We went to the same university. He dropped out because he couldn't handle the truth. Couldn't handle questionin' God even a little. Panicked at the first ounce of doubt and fled with his tail tucked between his legs."  
  
  "That's enough." Gideon snapped, head leaning to the left, feigned smile gone, sickening crack. "You have no business talkin' about this, you know. You almost left too, thought the place was too full of heresy. Told me once the school oughta get their heads on straight."   
  
  "You're right about that, but I never did want to leave. You got that wrong." He clapped his hands together, inhaling, "Well, anyways, it was good talkin' to y'all. Take care, y'hear?"   
  
  The Hubbards were already on their way out the door, Sarah ensuring her husband didn't fight the pastor right then and there, and Daniel finally processing something that had been in front of his face the entire time.


	105. Branches

  Gideon's knuckles whitened, gripping the steering wheel. Daniel sat in the back. Sarah sat in the passenger seat, her gaze directed out her side window, her throat tight. Daniel watched his parents as the dim evening settled across the town. His father drove them home, the rumble of the engine and the bumps of the cement the only sound. The streets of Cain were lined with streetlamps, bulbs in electric orange, willows and oaks and flowers that speckled the grass with white now tinged it's shade. The houses were all white, cream, blue, brick, except when they were outlined in the orange and blue-black that made the night. Shapes contorted in the dark, like rioting against principles of space itself. The glint of Gideon's glasses reflected the vague symmetry of the town, hills sloping and trees burning in the yards.

  They pulled into the driveway, the sting of the house lights giving them all stumble. Gideon shuffled to the kitchen, bringing out a bottle from the cabinet. Sarah, for once, kept her features neutral. Her husband shifted down into a chair in the kitchen, his broad shoulders bearing each second with such hefty weight, his elbows pressed into the wooden table. He took a long breath. Daniel watched, standing frozen in the hall, his eyes following the way his father's chest moved as he breathed, ribs expanding, constricting, pushing the air out. How many times he had wished the motions would stop in himself. How many times he wished the rise would end, the fall would result, and then the process would forever cease. He swallowed it down. Selfish, he felt selfish for thinking of himself for this second, when he was so close to answers. Some sort of remedy for the way his life had been for the past fifteen years, brimming with a stagnant faith he had no trust in anymore, the faith that had scorched his hands.

  He managed to pull himself up the stairs. To his room. He tugged off his clothes and set them neatly aside and changed into his pajamas, not bothering to shower, not wanting dinner. He just wanted to lay down and figure this out. He just wanted some sort of way to handle himself, his family, he wanted explanation.

  That could wait.

* * *

 

  He barely slept the entire night, tossing and turning, Brother White's words echoing in his head. His father was a coward. At breakfast he sat just a foot apart or so but he couldn't bring himself to even look him in the eye. He woke up in the same place every morning but there was something different in it, something that had changed, a metamorphosis of the space. He poured cereal and ate it slowly, trudged out to the car, and his mother drove him to school. Neither spoke.

* * *

 

  Abraham was first to talk to him that day. He had opened his locker to put away a book, and when he closed it, the boy was there, appearing like a ghost with his silence and his timid disposition. He leaned against the locker next to him, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, Danny," he inhaled, sheepish, "sorry about- well, y'know. My dad, he's abrasive-"

  "Do you know what he even _said?_ " Daniel didn't believe the tone leaving his lips, sharp unlike he was used to utilizing against the other. Abraham flinched.

  "...Yeah. He told me all about it."

  The other took in a long breath, shoulders rising, then plummeting down. "It's not your fault."

  "Pardon?"

  "It's not your _fault,_ Abey, you don't need to keep apologizing for your dad. He's a dick, we've established that. _Gosh._ "

  Abraham rubbed his arm, picking at the sleeve of his shirt near his elbow. He dragged his fingers through his hair, getting a bit long, like he hadn't wanted to cut it just yet. His chest was tight as he spoke with Daniel, balancing words carefully at the edge of his own vision, his fingers folding together nicely. "Daniel, I'm serious. I didn't know that about your dad, or else I would've told you. And my dad was out of line. I really am sorry if that's how you found out about our dads and their whole... Rivalry, thing- at least how long it lasted, you know." Abraham lowered his tone, somehow unfitting of himself, nervy and warm. Daniel watched him, his blond hair raking his lashes, his bright hazel-green eyes now avoiding Daniel completely.

  Daniel took his time speaking, just a small momentary pause. "He wouldn't talk last night. Just went straight for the whiskey." Abraham stared at him, snapping his eyes back to the other. They stood in utter silence for a while longer until the bell rang, needing to hurry off to class. Daniel reached down and slung his backpack over his shoulder, and as he rose, mouth open to speak again, Abraham had already made his way from the hall.

* * *

 

  "Back the _fuck_ up," Rachel held up her hands, staring at Daniel, disbelief carved into her features, "your dad was a seminary student?"

  "With Brother White, yeah."

  "Holy _shit._ "

  "Yeah."

  They were in Rachel's room, her hands now resting on her hips. She dragged one palm down her face, crux of her thumb pressed to the bridge of her nose. She looked away for a second, exhaling. "Geez. So that's why your dad was in Atlanta?"

  "Yeah. Grace Divinity School." He felt the words pummel out of him, vague and disjointed. They meant so little to him and almost too much, like they had figured the perfect place to rest themselves among the memories and snippets of his family's life. He had so little information on his father's side of the family. Small stories of cattle and horse thieves in northeastern Georgia that had migrated their way to the more central-western town of Cain, Scottish and Irish immigrants escaping famine and political instability, all of it mixing into this tale that made sense in only the way one's genealogy could make sense. Daniel plopped down on Rachel's bed, staring at her ceiling fan. She stepped cautiously over, sitting next to him.

  "So, what do we do now?"

  "I don't know." Daniel shrugged. He laid with his back in the blankets, arms outstretched on either side of him. "I really just don't... Know. He didn't talk this morning, either. Momma barely did."

  "Then you'll need to force them to talk." Rachel stated. He gave her a bewildered look. She shrugged. "Seriously, Danny. If they won't say anything on their own, you gotta force it out of them."

  He took a moment, but he couldn't find a single fault with what she said. It was true that they likely would never talk about it directly. And so with that being the case, the only option was to ensure they had no other choice but to talk about it. He sat up and looked at her, and for a second seemed like he was going to tell her that her plan was faulty, but he stood up instead. "I guess you're right," he said, "I can't figure out what else to do. And besides, I just... There's more to this than just dropping out."

  "Exactly."

  "So I've got to talk to them."

  "Yeah!" Rachel pumped her fist in the air. "Now you're getting it, Danny!"

  "I don't know if I can."

  "What? Of course you can. Daniel Joseph Hubbard, don't be a little bastard, you've got this!"

  He flinched. She didn't notice. They talked for a few moments longer, before he figured it was time to go, the October chill brandishing it's knife against the warm air they'd had recently. He shouldered the weight of his sweater on his bird-light bones as he stole home in the half-dark, temperature dropping in significant intervals throughout the week. He shoved himself inside, the house warming up around him, the weather turning sour-grey, the orange and brown leaves collapsed around the trees in their yard. He slammed his backpack down in his room and shut the door as tight as he could, opening the blinds to welcome in whatever remaining light he could. He swallowed down his breaths for a while, just standing there, just allowing himself to be in the space as himself. Daniel, son of Sarah and Gideon, a child who knew only so much, who knew nothing at all in the actuality of it. He pulled a book from the few he'd smuggled to his room, still keeping them stashed away, hidden until the right time. He pried one open and sat in his desk, but the words did nothing. Fell flat. He didn't feel anything from their prominence, nothing in their ideas. Nothing, nothing, a lot of nothing. He knew nothing he felt nothing everything was gone and he was nothing, he took a second. A beat.

  He waited until he knew it was quiet, and he walked downstairs.

  His father was sitting in a chair in the dining room, a few scattered folders of paper and documents. Daniel moved down the stairs and watched his form for a short while. Gideon locked eyes with Daniel, sensing his presence. He didn't have to gesture to the chair. Daniel just slunk over and sank into it, his eyes locked on his father, who didn't face him now, opting to stare at the table, fingers latched together. He took a breath. "Daniel, I know how this... Seems. It's strange as all hell." He couldn't find the words, and so they sat in silence for a while. Gideon dragged his palm down his nose, down his face, then took a drink from the glass next to him. Water, for once. "Cooper ain't right about all of that, and he was definitely out of place to say anything at all. It ain't his business."

  "Then," Daniel stopped himself, but after some seconds of thought, proceeded, "when were you going to tell me yourself?"

  Gideon allowed a few moments to pass. "I didn't know if I ever would. Not proceedin' with seminary's a big shame in the family down here, why do you think your uncles never show up? Can't stand to be around a drunk seminary drop-out."

  It almost had skipped Daniel's mind he even had uncles, confusion painting his face for a moment. The vaguest recollection of Gideon's brothers, all tall and broad-shouldered and dark-eyed. It had never occurred to him that _they_ (Daniel, his mother, his father) were the ones most families frowned on; the brother who went off and got married and had a kid - the dream, the part they admired - and then spent his days in a stupor and dwelling in a sort of melancholic haze, lacking even the smallest hint of optimism one requires to get out of bed most mornings. A sort of shame coating his eyes, the sort that came from dropping out of the one profession that would have made everyone proud, a pastor in the family. A real man of God. A real Christian who knew what he was doing.

  "When did you drop out?"

  " _Technically,_ I _didn't._ Just never re-enrolled. Everyone just calls it droppin' out 'round here since I didn't sign back up. Still got my fuckin' Associates upstairs." He pointed above themselves, and Daniel nodded. The paper he'd seen. They were entirely quiet for a while. Gideon readjusted his glasses. Then, he tugged them off his face entirely, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His hands were weary, skin over bone, the way his wrist drooped like a willow's branch, exhausted. "I became a paralegal as my back up plan. Quick process. Didn't require the discipline and dedication of law school. Considered business, though, but couldn't bring myself to go through with it."

  Daniel wasn't about to ask why. He just watched him, occasionally shifting in the chair. He rose after a while and left the room, waiting upstairs until dinner, until he could feel the weight of the house rise off his shoulders and abandon itself.

* * *

 

  He laid in his bedroom floor, CD player beside him. Headphones on. The CD was crackling at first, just noise, equipment shuffling around. Then the voices - first a blur of sound, smudged at the edges, then sharpening and coming into focus like a lens - rising in speech, chattering about. Milling about on a stage, a pulpit. He could hear the way their steps all merged together in the sound, and then a few papers shuffling. Hymn books.

  And then his father's voice, younger then, clear as a bell. [ _I KNOW THAT MY REDEEMER LIVES..._ ]

  He had seen photos of his father in high school. A wiry man with loosely permed brown hair, his face bearing a handsome but troublesome smirk, the kind that indicated mischief, absolutely indicative of bonfires and beers and loud music and dancing in the woods. A pagan sort of celebration. Daniel folded his fingers over his chest, closing his eyes. He resolved he would never become a coward like his father, never flee from his deeds. Face up to his wrongs, be a good man of good deed. Be someone his family would not disown but be proud of. [ _...GLORY, HALLELUJAH...!_ ]

  Unfortunately for many, his resolve would break at the age of twenty-four, when a desperate decision would unsettle the world, rattle the town, and course shame through the shuddered branches of his family tree.


	106. Pride and Adulation

  A recital had swung it's fist into motion. Daniel had almost forgotten it. He'd been so damn preoccupied that it fell ontop of him like bricks on his head. He had been working hard on every little bit of music, his fingers aching from bending and the fingertips, now calloused from playing so often, felt rough to rub on his wrist. His teacher had picked out a piece but every note fell like broken wings of a plane from his instrument, again and again and nothing worked to benefit the notes before or after each one. He practiced and practiced but his mind wasn't there, his heart lodged somewhere else, all of his concentration on the things he had lost this year. He missed a few notes and started the piece over. Again and again and he felt like it was to no avail, like he would gain nothing from this, he was nothing in this. He became frustrated, moments from tossing his bow on his bed, his heart thrumming and his mind sinking fangs of anticipation and anxiety into him.

  He took a break, sitting in his chair, taking a few seconds to get his head straight.

  He opened up his laptop, and looked up folk pieces. He was always better at fiddle more than classical, even if he had more training in classical. Fiddle just settled better in his hands, felt more natural, more real to him. Several passed him by, their sheet music swimming in his eyes, until he found one he knew. Oh Death, a folk song he'd played a few times before just for the sake of it, the music low and rumbling and squealing a plea to death himself, _spare me over another year._ He stood, straightening his posture, closing his eyes for a second to gather himself.

  It rang out around him, submerging himself in the sound. _Oh Death, won't you spare me over..._ He played with care and with a sort of warmth he hadn't felt in the strings in a while. He kept going, changing notes when he wanted, shifting the chords, transposing, playing with the piece until it was his own. It was earnest and real in the way he meant each little note. He had felt death once. He had been spared, the plea his own in some odd regard. Each ounce of it had been him once upon a time, once when he was younger. He was consumed with the story in that he felt it's comfort and it's fear. He played over and over, letting each note become his own composition of it, his own rendition. And then he set that song to the back of his mind, working on the piece he was assigned.

 

* * *

  
  
   It was nerve-wracking. Daniel stood backstage with the other students, a boy named Nathan preparing with his own violin, checking everything was in place. His parents had fretted over him for a while before finally going back to the audience, Nathan's family tender and concerned with their son's performance. Daniel had watched them, jaw tightening. He had always envied Nathan, the boy's family full of attention to give him, making sacrifices for their son. It made Daniel's stomach sick. But even when he felt this way, he pushed it aside, concentration necessary. He took his place on the stage, standing with the strongest presence he could muster, his eyes steely in the light, his chin high. Then he began, the classical piece melting in caramel sweetness from him, his fingers aching from the hours of practice. The bow brought out the melody, his eyes half-closed as he allowed himself to get lost, allowed the world to become his own for a while. He swallowed down all the anxiety even with how badly he knew he'd start shaking if he ignored the melody for even a moment, if he brought his mind from this trance for a millisecond, his breath loose in his lungs. He tried to keep his focus on the piece. He was so close to finishing the song, he just needed one more minute...

  It was over before he knew it, the last note ringing out. And then the applause, radiating and roaring and loud. He stood, opening his eyes and lowering his instrument, everyone clapping for this boy, this prodigy, this Apollo. The adulation was everything he needed, mending some part of him, something that had been mangled inside now repairing itself. He stepped backstage, and he still felt it even when another student stepped up and the crowd had gone quiet, he still felt it. It resided somewhere in his bones and he had forgotten how wonderful it was, how gorgeous this sensation was in his skin, absorbing every little ounce of their praise.

  The way home was a haze. He could feel their cheering, their eyes locked on him. Patrick hadn't been there, he had scanned the faces of the audience for the boy but he was gone, and it was a taste raw in his mouth to know his best friend was now an apparition at best in his memory. He went to bed thinking on it, but he went to bed with pride.

* * *

 

  He woke up and functioned as usual, October dragging it's feet along the ground, keeping the world rooted to it. His mind stuck to the thought of Nathan. He had always been jealous of the boy, but no matter what his family was like, no matter how they fretted over him and gave him the world, he would never be the violinist Daniel was. He had picked it up in nearly three years with the knowledge it had taken Nathan many more to fully master, the boys around the same age yet Daniel's skill shining through, his ability brighter than a sun, screaming for recognition with every note he poured from his instrument, with every little moment he spent working on honing his ability. Nathan had once commented that Daniel was born for this. Daniel had once thought about breaking Nathan's violin.

  It was a violent thought, but the boy had proved he still had more training, more time, his work more well-constructed. And if Daniel broke his violin, Daniel would be the top one in the class. And, a subsiding thought reared it's head, if he broke Nathan's violin, then Daniel's family would have no ground to stand on as to comparison between the two.

  They did so that morning. They had done so the night before and it started all over at breakfast. His mother made a comment how Nathan still played with much a sharper tone, much more grace, much more efficiency. Gideon had made the comment that his family was full of musicians, of course he had natural talent, of course he had been in training longer to help utilize that talent. Daniel had gripped his fork and spoke only that Nathan was a good violinist. He was good. He was fine. Daniel ate his breakfast with a sort of sourness on his tongue. He had gotten dressed, his sleeves pulling over his arms, his sweater bulky on his lithe frame. He had worked much harder than Nathan to get where he was, even with what little natural talent he had, couldn't they see? Wouldn't they open their eyes that their son, their own son was much better?! He felt the jealousy bubble up in his throat and tried to churn the thoughts into something more positive. He had scanned the audience for the faces of his friends. Rachel. Her parents. Jason and Johnny. Their family. Abraham. His family. Then an empty space where Patrick had once been, the boy with burgundy hair now gone from his life as quickly as a phantasmal vision.

  He knew there was nothing he could do now about Patrick, even if it ached him every day. Yet, he thought, the crowd's applause had been something bountiful and real. It occurred to him as he walked to the library that perhaps that was what he had been craving. Did he really even need Patrick at all? The other had just held him back, from his research and from his self-actualization, the realization of who he was meant to be. Did he need Patrick whatsoever? He was still glimmering from the praise, gleaming with the applause and the adulation and the utmost adoration he'd received from the night before, something he would be floating on for weeks. Maybe it was just his own selfish desire to have one person wholly dedicated to him. Maybe it was just that need for praise that had not been met fully. He found himself staring down at the pages of a book but not fully reading it. His mind was elsewhere. Did he even need anyone personally? The adoration he'd received felt more than substantial. Maybe that was all he ever would need, a full house of people with their eyes trained on him and no objecting, no telling him he was doing wrong, no telling him he wasn't this Apollo burning bright. This sort of pride that overwhelmed him when he felt it. Maybe he needed that most of all, not this research, not these people or this small town, just countless people listening to every note and every word and being his own raptured crowd.

  He snapped from his own thought as someone closed a book rather loudly not far from himself, bolting upright as he sat in the floor, his eyes giving nervous darts around. He set his own book back on the shelf and rose up, walking home. He didn't know what to make of himself. What would all of this mean for himself in the future? This craving would never go unsatisfied, he told himself. He would care more for that part of him that needed some sort of approval and praise. He would tend to it like a garden, cultivating it for whatever future pursuits he held in his mind. He would keep moving with his chin held high, and he would never let himself drown until he'd had enough of everything he wanted, had it in his claws, had it for his own. He would not be his father with his head low and the weight of his own past ringing in his ear. He would not be his mother with her fretting over keeping her husband from the brink of something disastrous, would not be his mother with her manipulation just to keep her family together. He would be something better. He would be better than them, and he would stop at nothing to satisfy whatever desire had been planted in his heart the moment he'd felt the words of a book spill forth from his lips long ago, the moment he'd played his first recital. He would stop at nothing to satisfy whatever desire was now blooming, a seed that had been nurtured long ago. He was Daniel, he was a wonderful violinist, and he wanted to be more than that. No, he would be more than that. The world would know his name, one way or another.


	107. Preparations

  It was October 27th, and Rachel was shopping for her Halloween costume. Her fingers dragged along the cheap costume fabric in the store, separating different looks from each other on their hooks. She'd brought Patrick along, the two of them goofing around while they tried to figure out what to be, donning headbands with devil horns and halos and animal ears. Rachel grinned ear to ear, her hands finding a vampire costume.  
  
  "How about this?" She suggested, the cape long and smooth under her fingertips. Patrick shrugged, his arms folded over his chest.  
  
  "I dunno. Why are we even here? You don't need a costume to hand out candy." He jabbed with a smirk, raking his fingers through his bangs. Rachel scoffed.  
  
  "Pfft- who said I'm handing out candy?" She retorted. Patrick took a moment.  
  
  "Rachel, we're in high school, you can't just go trick or treating anymore."  
  
  "Says you!" She poked his chest a bit roughly, before returning to her search for the perfect Halloween costume. She had been a witch, a vampire, a werewolf, a robot... She had been as many things as she could, and then some more, using the accumulated parts and pieces for her own creations. She pulled out a red cape and held it up for a second, then a look of donning excitement flooded her face, her mouth spreading into the most awfully enthusiastic smile. "Shit! I could be Little Red Riding Hood!" She exclaimed, bouncing, pulling the cape into her arms. He watched her as she fumbled around for more inspiration - a shirt, a costume she could repurpose - and couldn't help be amused and a bit amazed with Rachel. He slid around the clothing hangers on their lines, before tugging one off the steely, cold metal bar, showing it to her.  
  
  "What about this one?" He suggested. It was a full Red Riding Hood costume, complete with the hood and the skirt and blouse, but... Rachel scrunched up her nose.  
  
  "Too short."  
  
  "What? It's like, almost knee length in this picture. Plus, you've worn shorter."  
  
  "Yeah, with pants underneath." She rolled her eyes as Patrick put it back on the line. "Costumes are weird when you're a girl, my dude."  
  
  "How?" He began to look for one for himself. A pirate, a vampire, something.  
  
  "Well, for starters," Rachel clicked her tongue, pressing her fingertips together and taking in a breath, "the skirts are too short half the time, and it's cold as balls on Halloween. Second, the costumes are cheaply made. I mean, that's typical, but when it's cheaply made in the boob area, tends to lead to mishaps."  
  
  "Ew," Patrick shook his head, squeezing his eyes tight, "oh my gosh don't give me that image."  
  
  "Boob mishap." She repeated, grin wide and mischievous.  
  
  "Stop!" He pressed the balls of his fists against his ears. "That's just- you're like my sister, don't do that!"  
  
  "Ha!" She jeered, pinching his cheeks. "My little baby brother Patty can't handle a little boob mishap."  
  
  "Shut up...!" He whined, swatting her hands away. His cheeks were a dusty red, flushed in embarrassment, lips curled in a pout. "Let's just- let's just keep looking."  
  
  "Uh huh!" Rachel couldn't hold back the gleam in her eye, hands on her hips. She pulled a few costumes off the racks and then set them back, both of them searching in silence. She was hesitant, but then as she was feeling the sleeve of one, she kept her eyes on the piece as she spoke. "So, what's up with you and Danny?"  
  
  "What?" Patrick had been searching for his own costume, almost settling on a Frankenstein's Monster costume when he heard her speak, his head jerking up.  
  
  "He won't hang out when you're around, you won't hang when he's around... What the hell happened? You guys were like _this,_ " she crossed her index finger over her middle, "and now you're like... _This_." She splayed her fingers as far apart as she could, eventually settling for using the index finger of each hand and pressing their sides together, then pulling apart at her arm's length. He didn't respond for a second, before he sighed and rubbed the outer corners of his eyes with his thumb and middle finger, his mouth drawn in a tight line.  
  
  "It's just- I can't really talk about it, okay?" He rested one hand on his hip, and dragged his other hand down his face, the back of his wrist pressed to his chin. "I know I usually talk about, like, everything, but this... Rachel, this is pretty personal between me and Danny, okay?"  
  
  She watched him carefully for a moment, and before she could huff and object, her mother peaked her head from around a corner. "Rachel, have you got a costume yet?"  
  


* * *

  
  
  Daniel, for once, was glad his family did not celebrate Halloween. He knew Rachel was planning to drag Patrick trick or treating, and this year, he would not be going. He had other plans, anyways. His mother would be making pumpkin pie, and then when dinner and dessert were done, he would sneak out and wander to the river. Spend some time there, bring a reading light. The snakes had retired to their holes in the oncoming cold, so there was little to worry about. Hell, he'd never been that concerned with them anyways.  
  
  He had a book sitting in wait at the library, which he would check out on Halloween and read by himself in the fading light, keeping it out of reach of his family. He needed to, with this one. It was not one of the books from his father's personal study, it was not a book on Christianity. It was, however, something he was interested in.  
  
  He didn't know what everyone else had planned. Johnny and Jason were handing out candy, and Abraham... he didn't know what Abraham would be doing. He had half a mind to ask, but he also knew that his curiosity would lead him into an odd daydream of whatever this book contained, and he didn't like being with someone and unable to fixate on their words fully. He wouldn't want to be rude. So he didn't talk to him about his plans.  
  
  Looking out his window, he saw the street lined with decorations for Halloween, the people's houses adorned in fake cobwebs and ghosts of cloth and thread, fake spiders glittering atop hay bales, skeletons dangling from rafters on porches and sitting in front yards. Sometimes it made him bitter that his family didn't celebrate it like everyone else did, the only other person he knew that didn't partake was Abraham and yet he never complained. Abraham just went with it, satisfied to be home working on a project or reading or handling any homework he'd neglected. It was his night to ensure everything for November was organized and ready. Daniel didn't understand how he could care about any of that, but maybe his own perspective was clouded.  
  
  He didn't want his mind clouded anymore, and he hoped in the next few years his mind would clear. He continued to stare out at the world around the house, various old houses sticking up from between trees and from the dying grass like marble stones, markers of the graves of the builders who made these houses. Daniel knew his had traveled in his family, but he did wonder how much longer it would. He tried not to dwell on it. He had better things to think of.  
  
  While everyone was readying themselves for the upcoming holiday, Daniel was opening up his notebook, and expanding the Andromedean Republic. Zoxos had a brother, but he had no name for him yet...


	108. More Like Real Life

  It was just a few days away. With the town a flurry of preparations, each family scooping up any decorations left and piling lights ontop of lights and graveyards in their front lawns, it was beginning to truly feel like Autumn, the leaves crisp and shuddering in the wind, threatening to break off branches. Cain was a small town with not much happening at any point, but every holiday was a holiday, and it was always celebrated to the fullest by most of the town. Those who didn't celebrate it themselves still acted like it was a normal day, while silently admiring the decorations of the other neighbors. 

  Jason and Johnny were scrambling to get things in place. They weren't going out that night, instead handing out candy to neighbor kids who would toddle shyly up to their front door, the porch strung up with orange and white and purple lights, fake cobwebs slung over and wrapped around the door and windows and the porch railing. It took a while for it to truly feel like October in such a warm climate, awaiting the smallest reprieve from the humid heat that forced everyone into sluggishly slumping about in the days and huddling inside at night. 

  Johnny stood on a small ladder, hand extended for Jason. Jason handed him a plastic spider, and Johnny used a glue dot off a wax sheet to set it in place on the wall, a way to decorate without damaging the wallpaper. Jason kept handing him small plastic spider after plastic spider, the two working quietly while their parents handled the outside decorations. Johnny was putting the spiders up at the entrance of their hallway, Jason rather deciding that helping from the ground would be the best idea. The two of them worked quietly, until Johnny stepped down for a second, stretching. They admired their work before moving on to the next thing, Jason sitting at their kitchen table and cutting out the shape of a ghost from folded paper, which would expand to four ghosts he would paint with care. He sat there with his brushes and scissors, Johnny waiting patiently, toying with the other decorations they'd hang up soon.

  "Patrick and Daniel aren't talking," Jason piped up, "any idea why?" He looked up only momentarily from his work, needing to focus on the painting aspect, old newspaper under his ghosts. Johnny shrugged. 

  "Hell if I know. They must've fought."

  "Patrick and Daniel fighting? Hmmmm..." Jason thought for a moment, painting on the eyes of one of the ghosts, deep watercolored black holes. "...I don't know. It's just weird, right?"

  "Yeah, the whole dynamic was thrown off. Now we're all out of fuckin' balance." Johnny threw his hands behind his head, folding them there, leaning back in his chair. He watched his brother carefully for a moment as the other painted, the dining room humming with the slow sound of the fridge in the kitchen, a noise that filtered in. Jason cut a few more ghosts out, painting them, the noise of scissors and paintbrush in water and the delicate work he did ringing out in the almost-silence. "So like... What are you gonna do with those?"

  "Hang them up outside."

  "Won't the rain ruin them? There's rain comin' soon."

  Jason paused, and after a moment of scrunching up his mouth, he sighed. "Mhm, I guess there is. I'll just have to hang them in the windows." He shrugged, running his fingers through his hair, working delicately. Johnny watched for a bit longer in silence, then he stood up, pressing his palms atop the back of the chair.

  "Where do you even see yourself in ten years?" He asked, his brow furrowed, his lip drawn in a line.

  "Probably..." Jason trailed off, and took a second longer, his form pausing, "...probably right here, at least visiting mom and dad, hopefully a successful photographer or artist or something."

  "Really?" Johnny quirked his brow. "In ten years- shit, I'll probably be working in engineering or something."

  "A lot of discipline's required to be sure you get things done right." Jason looked at his brother, raising his brow, a grin on his mouth. Johnny frowned.

  "The hell does that mean?"

  "You're not exactly the most... Disciplined or patient one of our bunch." 

  "Okay, so? Big deal, in ten years we won't be the same people." 

  "No, we really won't be." Jason hummed. He paused, and then set his brush down. "Have you thought about going into construction?" 

  "Uh... Sort of."

  "I kind of like the idea of being an architect. Maybe we'll work together. Taylor and Taylor Brothers, something." 

  Johnny snorted, walking over and ruffling his brother's hair. "You've been dreaming about being an artist since you were a kid. Not like you're gonna just abandon that yet." 

  "No, but you and dad and mom always tell me this isn't gonna make money." Jason looked up at him, his eyes sincere, a grin still on his lips. Johnny didn't think anything of it, just walked to the kitchen and got some orange juice, sitting back across from him and watching as his twin worked on his paper ghosts.   
  


* * *

 

  Jason made ghosts and pumpkins from paper and painted them all lovingly, taking pictures of them spread out on the table, strung up over the windows, and his brother standing under them with a big, broad grin. The evening continued without much else to it, the sun descending outside, hours melding into hours. There was much that was to come, and the ghosts quivered when the heat came on in their house, shocking life into the paper for a fragment of a second. The two brothers stayed up that night, Jason working on a painting. Johnny plopped down on his bed, watching for a while in silence.

  "What's that?" He asked, quirking his brow. Jason didn't speak for a second, before he set his brush in the water. The painting was small, but Jason had taken great care to ensure no detailing was lost. It was a picture of years ago, just an image made from memory, all of them playing duck-duck-goose at Abraham's house, sitting in his back yard, peach tree rising high above them, all of their figures vague and fuzzy at the edges. Johnny furrowed his brow, standing up and squinting to get a good look at it. "The hell...?" 

  "Since it's almost Halloween, I painted us all as ghosts, like we'd been dead when we played that game." 

  "Huh." Johnny rose up, hands on his hips. He chuckled. "Shit, Abraham already _looks_ the part."

  "I know." Jason shook his head with a small laugh. "Still, it was fun. Think I should bring it to school?"

  "Nah, it'd get fucked up in your backpack."

  Jason agreed after a moment, and set his things away, cleaning his brushes and the glass he used for his paints, fingers stained as he scrubbed it clean. Johnny went back to his room, Jason continuing to clean out palettes and brushes, fingertips turning blue from the paint, azure and cyan and white specks and the bright orange used sparingly. He watched the colors drain down the sink, everything leaving, abandoning the white porcelain basin, the vortex of black-silver pipe sucking it all down. He felt like there was a sort of cloud hovering over their town, wrenching the color from all of them as they grew older. Everything had been oversaturated in their earlier years, everything brighter and winding up and the world fulfilling and kind. Now it was like everything was turning grey, and he didn't know what to do. His parents had told him that he didn't have much of a chance - think of all of the artists who have become famous, and then literally everyone else who didn't - but they still let him take the AP Art class that was his lifeline. They still invested in canvases and paints and tools. Like they demeaned him but covered their bases. Even if Jason was the favorite on behavior, it was becoming clearer that his brother was the favorite in providing a future for them, like they wanted the two to stay home and care for them when time went on and they grew old and became dust slowly. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't want to think about that. He dried his brushes and his palette and his cloth and glass. He set them away in his room. He piled into his bed and tried to not think about it, but it became clearer with every passing day that his brother was the one they had hope for. They didn't know what to think of Jason, even if he was the quiet and collected one, he was also the one they couldn't rely on for a future. 

  Where would he be in ten years?

  Probably nowhere. Same house. Same room. Same brushes. Same canvas. Painted over daily, to make the colors match. And he hated it.


	109. Shadows Cast

  Halloween rolled around with a fervor, last minute preparations set out in various homes, costumes bought, pumpkins carved. The shadows cast from the candles inside were long and sharp. Patrick and Rachel were out wandering around, chatting and going door to door. Johnny and Jason were handing out candy. Abraham was staying in, helping organize some of the books on his mother's shelf, helping his father with his sermon for the upcoming Sunday.

  Daniel was inside, anticipation building in his gut. He had been holding onto this book for a few days, waiting to read it, because he knew that Halloween was a noisy day, one where his own disappearance from the house would not be noticed. It would blend into the backdrop like it had for many years before, and he would be able to go and sit at the river and keep his head low behind a tree, bring a reading light, turn the pages. He hadn't really known anything about this author except that he founded his own church in his lifetime. Daniel had taken an interest in it, mainly for the reason of reading about something other than Christianity for once.

  He and his family sat around the table for dinner, saying grace and then his mother disappearing into the kitchen, bringing out her pumpkin pie like every year. The hot cocoa had been made earlier, nutmeg and cinnamon poured into the drink as it cooled slightly on the stove. Daniel had always loved the way his mother's side of the family prepared their meals, with extra care for everything going into them, with sometimes unusual ingredients that balanced everything out. His family didn't often drink packaged hot cocoa on special occasions; rather his mother would make some home made and they would all enjoy it together. It was one of the few things that brought peace to their house, and brought silence instead of wringing out the aggravation of anyone. He sat and ate dessert with his parents, all of them a bit quiet, Sarah coming back with mugs of hot cocoa, which Gideon poured a small amount of bourbon into his own, earning a small sharp glance from his wife. They exchanged looks. Then nothing was said. 

  "Well," Sarah said with a plain smile on her lips, gazing over at her son, "how are things between you and Patrick? You haven't talked about him at all lately." She meant it casually, to get conversation going. Halloween was a day for all of them to relax a little, especially not celebrating it themselves. He swallowed the lump in his throat and chased it with hot cocoa and a bite of pie, taking a second.

  "We had a bit of a fight."

  "About what?" Her smile fell. She had never known her son to fight Patrick of all people, they had always been so close and she could remember them always at each other's side, and always spending time with Rachel and the others, much to her own dismay. 

  "Just... We disagreed on some things and we're just not talking." He stated it with finality, and for a while no one else spoke. They enjoyed the silence as long as they could, figures outside walking past the sidewalk and the driveway that led to their house, up the hill, the porchlights out to signal nothing waiting for the children that were milling about with jack-o-lantern buckets and pillow cases. The silence lingered a bit longer in the dining room before Sarah spoke again, her smile growing in a simmering way, like she didn't dare spread it to reveal her teeth but merely widened it, brow arched. 

  "Then I guess that means you're not goin' trick-or-treatin' with 'em, doesn't it?" 

  Daniel's blood froze. He could practically feel it sticking to his veins, a dry freeze, nitrogen under his skin. He jerked his head to face her, eyes partially wide, the shock riddled in his features causing his mother to titter with laughter for a second.

  "Don't think we didn't know, you're not the most sneaky kid," she hummed, "we figured you'd come 'round eventually, realize there's a reason we don't want you celebratin' somethin' so... Well, somethin' so ripe to let others sin, and looks like the Lord's workin' His miracles to bring you outta it. He needed y'all to stop talkin' so you wouldn't go participate in this ghoulish holiday any longer." 

  The undertone was clear as day, as fire. She never would have to say it, but Daniel knew the implication. Halloween was the devil's birthday. Halloween was a night of sin. This meant Daniel had been sinning. That he was destined for hell. He was destined for torment no matter what he did. He was doomed from the start. From his birth. From his near death. The voice of Brother White rang out in his mind. He had gone to hell. He had been to hell. He had seen the darkness in place of fire and felt the truest form of fear he knew, the horror at it all, the fall of the world from beneath his feet, damning him to eternity in that place in torment, lingering there with nothing but himself for all eternity. Hell. He had been to hell because he had been disobedient and he had been terrible and he wasn't a good person and he wasn't pure enough he wasn't pure enough...

  He sat there, corpse-still, hands resting in his lap. His mother had been talking with his father when he finally came out of this state, dissociation slowly slipping out the door. The shadows cast by the walls seemed stronger now, longer now. He finished his dessert and helped clean up. He went upstairs, shut his bedroom door, and slumped down into his bed. He felt too sick in the stomach to read. He had been a bad kid. He had been bad enough that he had gone to their hell.

  He didn't believe in hell, but he felt it then, he felt it in his pulse as it raced and he laid stretched out on his bed, trying to calm himself down. He had been a bad kid. His parents knew of his disobedience but let it slide because they knew he'd lose something and then come back to them. To their ways. He had lost Patrick. He had lost the one person he knew he could love. He swallowed tight, his eyes locked on the ceiling. He'd return the book to the library and let it sit. He couldn't bring himself to read it right now, and he didn't think he would want to read it just yet. He just laid there, trying to gather himself even as it felt as though pieces of his being were shattered and scattered around his room for him to pick up, carry through the house, build a whole new imposter self.

  The shadows cast outside by the porchlights and the columns of houses were bold and brandishing the knives of winter's chill upcoming, and in just a year, at the age of sixteen, Daniel would pick up the same book again with a purpose and a drawing from his early childhood, and he would build a whole new world from the writings of others. For now, he needed sleep, and these things would come in time, and he would let them rush up to meet him at the edge of his own damnation.


End file.
